Fury and Flames
by Saori Runa Dempsey
Summary: Hell hath no fury like Stan's inspectors scorned. No one messes with his marshals. No one. Death. Fighting. Fun. Things going "BOOM". Ch 8: Mary, Marshall, Bobby, ABQ's local LEO's, a gym, and testosterone. What could go wrong? *On HOLD*
1. Prologue

**This story is SO Mary-muse's fault! She was kicking around in my head, demanding I let her run wild and have some action-packed fun and she came up with this. I was planning on my "Marshall-meets-Mary" story first, but apparently she is having none of it. And Marshall-muse knows it's better (and healthier) to give Mary-muse what she wants when she's in this mood. *Sigh***

**And special thanks to **_AULLBERG_** for all the help and idea bouncing!**

**Fair WARNING: I have a very dismal view of Jinx, Raph, and Brandi to begin with (though Brandi is becoming tolerable to me at least) so it is rather difficult for me to maintain their characters canon-like, but I tried. I swear! But I apologize if they somehow seem OOC despite it.**

**This story will be Marshall x Mary, obviously, and feature fellow WITSEC Marshal's I created specifically for this because I don't think Stan and the wonder duo can manage all the witnesses in ABQ all on their own. Not physically possible. To those of you irking at the idea of lots of OC's, I promise you will like them if you found Marshall's family I created (see my Marshall's guide series) amusing and entertaining. Lots of Bobby D, gun fights, and danger in sight.**

**So full speed ahead! Enjoy! =)**

**~SRDempsey**

_**

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Fury and Flames**_

**Prologue**

It all started with a joke.

_La Carina Notte_ was a classy Italian restaurant in the better part of town and the type of place Mary Shannon didn't frequent. Ever. Unless the Marshal's Service was picking up the tab, then it was more like, '_Bring on the lobster, bitch, and hold the bib.'_

USMS was not footing the bill that particularly fateful night, nor was it her best friend sitting across from her. These types of places were Marshall's kind of restaurant, after all – classy, but not ostentatious. Nice linen table clothes that could blind if you stared at them too long. Silverware without water stains. _A god damn violinist going from table to table._

Mary felt like running despite the heels and the dress but it was her compromise – an attempt to soothe Raph's insecurities about their yet-to-be-decided wedding date. So what if the dim lit atmosphere and romantic setting made her want to puke? He'd been a relatively good sport about her job and the secrecy…sort of. And she felt bad for ditching all their other dates…even if it _was_ for legitimate reasons.

Reasons he couldn't know, but had an idea about _because he knew what she did for a living_.

Sometimes, Mary regretted telling him. Raph had this face now – a tense, tight-lipped look of disapproval every time she got a call from work – since that fateful shooting. It didn't even have to be an emergency – just a lost form neither Marshall or Stan or Eleanor had been able to unearth from the systematic sloppiness that was her desk – and he got that look and it pissed her off. A lot. The one that she could just hear him thinking something like, _'This can't be happening when we have kids,'_ or something equally as agitating. And she _didn't even know if she WANTED kids!_

_Something has to change._ She knew this. Mary wasn't stupid. She was waiting for the change to happen so she could start seeing this wedding on the horizon, but short of quitting her job as a US Marshal she _couldn't_ change anymore without becoming something she'd hate. She loved her job and everything about it – Stan and his often-times blind loyalty to her; Marshall and his off-the-wall trivia and general zaniness; even Eleanor and the antagonistic friendship of sorts that they had. She never told them this – _because she was Mary and Mary did not ever admit to loving anything so it could not hurt her as much when it eventually had to leave her – _and didn't ever plan to.

She needed Raph to compromise. He had to be the one to bend on this because she couldn't bend any farther. She needed him to stop jesting about her hiding mob bosses and gang-bangers out loud and to stop getting pissy _every time she had to leave_ because she was tired of it. _And she could not be emotionally tired while on the job._ Mary needed him to understand and to let it go, so she was going to sit here if that's what it would take to make him happy, damn it, _and wine would help push back her lunch into her stomach._

Dinner was a nice affair, if a little more classy then she was used to, and she didn't even mind paying for all the drinks she was downing at the end. Their server came back with her credit card and the receipt to sign in one of those long padded-leather things all the classy places gave you your check in with a brief, "Thank you for your patronage, Ms. Shannon," because of her bill that was over $50 in alcohol alone _and she better damn well get a thank you for it_. It went exceedingly well, considering, and the food was good, until her phone rang as they were getting their coats on and he froze, his eyes staring holes into her cell and _loudly_ not-asking her to pick it up.

"I'll call you back in five," she told Marshall, because even if it was an emergency he could handle it, and hung up, meeting Raph's gaze.

"What mafia boss needs you now, Mary?" he uttered unhappily, not quite normal volume but still loud enough to be over heard. "Or wait, would that be convenience store clerk now?"

"Raph!" she hissed, once, annoyed even though she knew it was the alcohol. He'd drunk too much and he was a moody drunk, which was why she normally avoided him at all costs when he did choose to indulge. Mary glanced around, looking for any signs of acknowledgment to his words, found none, and dragged him rather quickly to the car, tense and seething, an uncomfortable feeling in her gut that had nothing to do with the inevitable fight once they got home…again. And the ridiculously hot make-up sex she knew they would have.

Mary Shannon did not know the man at the table next to them dressed in a nice business suit and drinking with his sister-in-law was the widow of one of Brian Donovan's victims – a LA gangbanger who turned traitor against the big-shots of his old gang in exchange for a fresh start under the protection of the ABQ branch. She did not know he'd sunk so low since his discharge from the Marine Corps and was now nothing but a drunken man swallowed by pain and the need for revenge for the brutal and vicious rape/murder of his wife and teenage daughter the day before he returned home from duty.

She didn't know anything about the rage that fueled him as he filed her name away that he remembered hearing in pieces – _Mary Shannon –_ or the comprehensive digging he would do to gather all he could on the only clue he had as to the identity of at least one WITSEC Marshal. _One step closer to that murderer._

No one knew anything about the information he gathered _and sold_ to other angry families of victims who would never see their murderer's come to justice because of the witness protection program until a month later.

No one had a clue that anything was wrong until Albuquerque's Sunshine Building and the home of U.S. Marshal Mary Shannon exploded into pyres of flames that scorching hot day in July.

**

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A/N: All Mary-muses fault. All her fault. Grr…lots of action coming up. And will I be mean? Someone die in the fires? Who's hurt? Who's not? Hmm…Who knows?**

**Reviews, as always, are kindly appreciated. It is already established, I think, that I'm a whore for them. XD!**


	2. Chapter One

**I apologize for the slow speed of this but it is likely to be the pace as I try to catch my footing in this particular genre. I'm almost exclusively a romance/humor/drama kind of girl, but hopefully this satisfies. =)**

**Enjoy!**

**~SRDempsey**

_**

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Fury and Flames**_

**Chapter One**

Only a few people crazier then him were at the office as early as six in the morning, though Marshall felt it was rather telling that they were the ones who were usually done with work as early as three in the afternoon. Not that he could convince Mary of that – never. And Marshall never left before Mary, because God help them all if he left her unattended in the office more then was necessary. Stan would kill him…and that was _if_ he survived whatever torture Eleanor conjured up.

He eyed the freshly brewed pot of coffee in the employee lounge cautiously, doubtful that it was fit for human consumption and unwilling to begin his day so early _without_ some form of caffeine no matter how inferior it was. Marshall was _still_ staring at it when the early-rising team from the floor below came up, both looking like death had warmed them over as was usual. He didn't see them very often unless he came in early like today, and he doubted Mary even knew their names. Any cooperation they did with other teams was usually quickly forgotten by his partner unless they did something particularly amazing to warrant her notice. Marshals Cassie Hayner and Laurence Harper were about as "civilian" as inspectors could get. Half the time, even Marshall had to admit he forgot they were Marshals instead of bums, let alone WITSEC inspectors.

"Is it edible?" Cassie poked the pot, one eye closed as she peered at it, lips pursed in obvious doubt. She poured half a cup in her "_Save the Wolves – Screw the World"_ mug, half amazed it poured like brown liquid gold, and immediately shoved it under her partner's nose. "Test it."

"What if it's poisoned?" Marshall couldn't help pointing out. Of all the childish things Mary did to him, even _she_ wasn't sadistic enough to subject him to being her personal taste-tester.

"Then Laurence dies and I get a new partner." The statement earned her a grunt from said man, his dark eyes narrowed in half-hearted indignation at best. In the few years he'd been here at the ABQ branch, Marshall couldn't recall ever hearing the man…well…_speak_. It was downright fascinating, really. He obviously communicated, seeing as his partner understood him. Was it perhaps the tone and length of the grunts that differed…?

_I need more caffeine._

Laurence didn't drop dead, like they half expected him to, so Marshall filled his plain white coffee mug with the USMS insignia after Cassie refilled hers and left the two to raid the leftover box of Krispy Kremes from yesterday. Obviously Mary hadn't seen them or there wouldn't have been leftovers to begin with.

He was in the middle of typing up the report about yesterday's check in with one of his families that he'd put off when the good old fashioned Mann-paranoia kicked in. It was a sixth sense dating back to the very first Marshal Mann that his father and grandfather had said was passed down through the generations and kept them alive to ripe old ages despite the odds being against them. It was eerily silent like usual for early mornings – a sharp contrast to the buzzing noise common of the office during work hours – but something felt…off. Strange. _The-call-is-coming-from-INSIDE-the-house_ peculiar.

"Morning, Marshall," Bert the janitor greeted him like usual as he passed him in the stairwell, heading for the seventh floor. Headphones in his ears and whistling to whatever Mexican music he was listening to, he was toting a large bag of trash over his shoulder before disappearing through the seventh floor doors to empty trash bins like normal. Marshall followed him, confused. Neither Cassie nor Laurence noticed anything peculiar when he stopped into their shared office to inquire about it – they being the only ones there besides him – and he was half way between the sixth and seventh floors when he found something _un_usual. Or perhaps _slipped_ _in it_ was the better term for it.

Marshall went feet up as he slipped off the last stair and crashed butt first onto the tiny landing, his legs dangling over the next flight down and his head cracking loudly against the wall. Liquid was under his fingers and he brought them to his nose, perplexed by the strange odor permeating his sense of smell.

_Not water…accelerant?_ He got to his feet, taking the steps two at a time before bursting into the seventh floor hall just as he heard the distinctive thump of a bullet. Marshall didn't see what or who it hit, diving head first under the first cover he could just as the floor rocked beneath him, his fingers still typing the emergency SOS to Stan's cell as fast as they could when the heat came.

Heat…and fire.

* * *

Had the call come ten minutes earlier, Mary would've probably verbally torn into Stan for calling her early. As it was, he called exactly four minutes after seven – six minutes after she woke up, uneasy – and the tone of his voice as he said her name killed whatever snappy reply was on the tip of her tongue.

"Oh god, what happened now?" She was already jerking on her jeans and hastily pulling on a clean shirt as she spoke, her mind processing all of her witnesses who were in critical danger at the moment. Mary ignored Raph, who made that face she hated, and managed to mentally think of at least four witnesses who might be the cause of _'That Voice'_.

"Just get down to the courthouse," he ordered, his voice stressed, and she didn't ask why or how come – he would tell her when she got there.

"I've got to go," she murmured quickly, more to herself then for Raph's benefit. She grabbed at her keys and jammed her feet into her shoes before exiting the house at a sprint. Mary didn't believe in much, but the fact that her mysoginist metaphor of a car didn't fight with her like normal worried her worse. It _always_ fought her. It was a morning _ritual_.

Mary passed the Sunshine Building on her way to the courthouse, and that bad-feeling churn that she'd woken up to worsened. Now she knew why Stan told her to go to the damn courthouse.

The building looked like a roasted turkey.

She gunned it the rest of the way, ignoring the honks and trying to remember if anyone might've been working. The janitor, maybe. Maybe one or two inspectors around six if paperwork was bad. She and Marshall had done so a time or two…

God, Marshall.

_He was caught up on his paperwork,_ she reasoned, squelching the flash of bone-deep fear before it could take root. _Doofus is probably at the courthouse helping Stan get everything in order, babbling about the number of liquids that can be used as accelerants or something equally as mind-numbing…_ Mary still felt uneasy though, stomping the gas a little harder in her haste. When she finally arrived, she barely remembered to grab her keys from the ignition before hitting the steps at a run.

He was there in the judge's chambers turned WITSEC office, alright, but his state of being worried her immediately.

"What the hell? Doofus, why aren't you in the hospital!?"

Marshall inhaled from his oxygen mask deeply once more before pulling it away to grin weakly at her. "They didn't have any lime jello or pie. Can you believe it? Every hospital has to have-"

"To hell with the jello and pie!" She squatted to look at him eye level, checking his eyes, looking at his legs that were an angry red. No welts or broken skin, but a harsh red from exposure to heat. His pants were cut off at the thigh so they were more like shorts and made him look like an overgrown boy scout, but Marshall seemed not to notice as he laid them out extended across the couch against the wall of their temporary base of operations. Mary let her fingers graze lightly just above the red-red skin, watching his face for signs of pain and cursing when he cringed at her ever so light touch. "Marshall, you need to be at the damn hospital! You could get an infection if these blisters burst and-"

He placed a finger to her lips, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I need to be here. I gave my statement but I need to be helping. Bert is dead – died from the floor collapse due to the explosion. Cassie is…she was shot. The bullet nicked her head and she's in surgery so the neurologist can repair any damage that he can."

Mary had to think hard, trying to remember Bert was the janitor and even harder to recall who Cassie was. Since women were out numbered in the marshal's service nearly 200 to 1, and even fewer physically capable of becoming WITSEC inspectors, it shouldn't have been very difficult to recall her but was. She didn't particularly know_ any_ of the inspectors who worked on the seventh floor and forgot them almost as soon as she stopped working a case with them.

Still, a marshal was a marshal. _No one_ screwed over a fellow marshal and didn't feel the full weight of every USMS employee come bearing down on them like a cold iron anvil. It was like a fraternity. Solidarity in shared danger and all that crap.

Marshall knew this and smiled a little wider, shaking his head. "Been an inspector three years, partnered with the 'Silent Sentinel'?" When recognition didn't dawn, he took another breath of oxygen before adding, "Showed up to our last company picnic with that intoxicated guy and ended up beating the crap out of him for picking a fight with the judiciary marshals?"

"Her!" She remembered that. Mary had actually been mildly impressed by her moved and looked up kickboxing because of it, though she never went to an actual class for it, sadly. No time. _Never any time._ "Jesus. Was it a hit?"

"No," Stan put in. "Not in a personalized sense. We believe it was an attack on our office in general."

"How the _hell_ can that be? No one knows we're WITSEC personnel." _Except Raph. But he'd never tell anyone._ After a moment's hesitation she amended, _not purposely._ "The office isn't even listed as owned by the USMS."

"Mary." There was that tone again, Mary mused, accompanied by the look Stan usually got when he was going to do or say something he didn't want to. "Did you tell anyone about what you do for a living?" He held up an evidence bag to show her, and Mary eyed the single message printed on plain white computer paper.

_**Death to those who stand in the way of justice, Inspectors.**_

"The fuck?" She nearly crumpled it in her aggravation, bag and all, but remembered it was evidence and tossed it back to Stan instead. "Jesus…Stan." _I told Raph, but he wouldn't…_

That disastrous dinner flashed in her mind…his drunken joke about her job in a public place because of his anger. If someone had been there and put two and two together…

_Oh sweet Jesus. This is my fault._ Her heart dropped to her feet and she crashed to her knees, clinging to Marshall's burned sleeve, staring blankly at it. _I got another marshal injured. I could've gotten Marshall killed because…why? Why did I tell him?_ _There was a reason…I KNOW there was a REASON…_

_But is there any reason that was really worth this?_

Mortifyingly, her eyes watered as she stared at Marshall's legs – _her best friend –_ and wondered if it was worth it. Soothing Raph's semi-justified irritation…hanging onto the only relationship other then her friendship with Marshall that she'd felt might last…how much was that fraying relationship worth? Marshall's legs? Another marshal's life?

Marshall hugged her, a one-armed grasp that pressed her face into his shoulder, hiding the tears she forced to stop. The plastic of the oxygen mask brushed against the back of her head, emphasizing just how much she could've lost for a relationship that was all angry fighting and frustration then it was joy these days. Awesome sex too, but if she thought about it, she could get sex anywhere. Anyone. Hell, she was pretty certain Marshall would throw down with her if she asked, and it was always said that it was the quiet ones who are the wild ones…

"We're alright," he murmured, his voice soothing despite the distortion of the mask and the oxygen. "Could Raph have told anyone?"

"No." She firmly believed that. "He's a good guy. But he did get drunk and made a joke in a restaurant – _La Carina Notte – _once that could've compromised my job…it was a month or two ago and nothing happened, so I figured…"

Stan sighed. "We thought as much. You know there will be consequences for it later, but for now the top priority is tracking down this jackass. We'll need all of you on this, and until further notice our branch is on lockdown. No one can leave the Albuquerque program or enter it until further notice with relocation on an emergency basis only."

"Where are the others?"

"Laurence was still sitting in Cassie's hospital room, last I checked," Marshall rattled off. "Josiah is enroute and Micah is helping Eleanor figure out what paperwork needs to be reprinted and if anything was lost in the fire."

Stan nodded absently, rubbing his chin with his fingers thoughtfully. "For the moment, I think we should keep this between us. It's not like they wouldn't get why you told Raph, but…emotions are high right now and one of our own might not make it, and if she does, she will likely not be without permanent injury. The last thing we need is internal fighting."

Mary listened half-heartedly to Stan as he rattled off the particulars, knowing Marshall would fill her in if she missed anything important. She was too concerned with the wheeze he had from the smoke inhalation, a thin whining in his otherwise generally pleasant voice. And of course he was down-playing his injuries. She didn't need to have memorized an entire medical dictionary to realize he should be in the hospital for the severe first degree burns…never mind his lungs.

Marshall saw her staring at his chest, contemplated cracking a joke, and thought better of it. "I'm fine," he said instead, thumping his hand on his chest for proof. "I know you secretly love staring at my chest, Mare, but really…"

"Doofus." She punched his shoulder, lightly, and rested her head against his shoulder. "I should never have told him. Never should've…"

"Who did you tell?"

Mary whipped her head up, alerted by the lethal quality of that tone, and had to think hard before she pinned the hard-eyed man in the doorway as a fellow inspector. Laurence…Harding? Harper? Something like that. The 'Silent Sentinel', as he was called, because he never spoke but was similar to a wild horse: proud, more then a little untamable, but congenial enough to work with the domesticated. His partner usually spoke for them both unless directly spoken to. His brown eyes were hard as stone and Mary touched her gun out of instinct.

Raw killing intent fell off of him in waves.

Stan motioned for the marshals guarding the doorway to stand down, shutting it firmly behind his tightly strung inspector who advanced two predatory steps forward. He knew he should intercede, but quite frankly, it was probably best for him to get it out now rather then on a mission where personal feelings couldn't afford to get in the way of his judgment. Marshall must've figured the same since he wasn't automatically going on the defensive, though he did shift closer to Mary, his gaze relaxed but ever vigilant to Laurence's every move.

At 5'10", Laurence wasn't much taller then Mary, but he was more muscled, and Stan recognized the poise of a brawler. Each of his inspectors had a unique background in fighting that Stan knew by heart. Mary and Laurence had similar styles; both of them were brawlers, but hers was more spontaneous and every-man-for-himself while his was a composed but deadlier type of fighting that spoke of experience. He'd gone to see some of the obligatory sparring matches between his six current inspectors in the training gym a few times and the matches Mary and Laurence had were…interesting to say the least.

Mary faced him, head held high, one hand at her side and the other on Marshall's shoulder to keep him from doing something stupid. Rage she could deal with. The anger she could deal with. Hell, she'd have been tearing into someone if Marshall was the one in surgery now.

She said nothing as Laurence came _way too close_ and stood nose to nose with her, his breathing a little too quick then was normal and his eyes a little…off. Frantic. Constantly searching. It was the look fugitives got when they were cornered and had one of two options: Flee or Fight. Mary faced the emotions she saw running in his face that had just enough Navajo in it to be pinned as _'not white'_. _She did not jump_ when his hands grabbed her shoulders, squeezing hard enough that she'd have nail indents later, and waited. Pressed a single finger into Marshall's shoulder when he moved, saying everything she needed to with just that one touch.

_Don't._

Mary half expected him to hit her, and though he didn't, watching him silently fall apart _because men are so STUPID and can't let themselves just fucking cry like a normal human being _slammed into her as effectively as any fist could – if not more so. His hands let go abruptly and he sunk to his knees, head bowed and salty tears dripping silently one after another like a leaky faucet onto the carpet below.

"You can hit me if you want," she offered with a shadow of her usual grin. "I can take it."

"It would serve you right if I did," he grumbled, his voice pitched low but normal. No killing intent. His gears compartmentalizing his emotions for dissection later. "But you're bitchy enough that you'd slug me right back, Shannon."

She shrugged, the tension easing in the room as Marshall snorted from somewhere behind her. "Conditioned reflex. So?" When Laurence finally looked up, his face set in its usual ambiguity and dry of any signs of tears, Mary asked him, "How is she?"

"Still in surgery." To Stan, he said blandly, "I can't take the silence anymore, so I was hoping you had figured out something for me to shoot."

"Isn't that her line?" Marshall mused dryly, jerking his finger in Mary's direction.

Laurence's eyebrow jerked up high in response, as if Marshall were daft. "My partner, my turn."

"You all need a better way of dealing with stress," Stan grumbled, rubbing at his temple. "We're handling this in house, so we can't go to our brother agency for help on this one. I'm going to have Josiah and Micah help deal with the witnesses and paperwork, so you three _go find that damn arsonist sniper_!"

"Uh…Stan?" Marshall was staring at something over her shoulder and Mary followed his gaze, blinking a few times as her brain tried to catch up to what she was seeing. "I think we know where to start."

"That's…" Mary inhaled once – _deep, calming fucking breaths – _and scowled at the television to cover the gut-sinking worry clawing at her stomach.

"Mare?" Marshall poked her, once, and forced himself to his feet with a wince even as Stan shot him that _sit the hell down you moron_ expression.

"God damn it. That fucker_ lit my house on fire_!"

For a silent sentinel, Laurence looked happier then the exclamation warranted and checked his Glock with a habitual kind of detachment. "Oh goody, maybe I'll get to shoot something after all."

**

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And there we have it. Chapter 1. Mary's life is getting completely tossed into the air and Marshall is hurt. Again. (Because I so love injuring the Mann. Bwahaha!) So we now have her house being burned, and three possibly casualties. Any thoughts?**

**Also features two of my newest marshals, Cassie Hayner and Laurence Harper. Not quite the Marshall/Mary type partnership, but still obviously close. Hopefully Laurence is mildly endearing, as he'll be around for awhile. Thoughts on him? Like him? Hate him?**

**Come on, you know you want to give me some feedback…**


	3. Chapter Two

**This one comes quicker then the last. Though I apologize for any factual errors. I researched as much as I could to make everything fit medically, but I am no doctor and do not have access to one to pick their brain, sadly. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. **

**~SRDempsey**

_**

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Fury and Flames**_

**Chapter Two**

Pandemonium seemed to be the order for the day.

At least, Marshall thought so.

As the Probe coughed and died as they pulled up in front of what was left of Mary's home, Marshall swung his legs out of the side of the car and stared, annoyed that he couldn't walk further because the pain was bad, and concerned by the way Mary was practically vibrating with stress as she grabbed the nearest police officer and demanded to know where her family was. Where _Raph_ was.

Marshall gritted his teeth, reminding himself that the man _was_ a good guy. But at the moment there was no getting around the fact that he was the cause for all this hell. Marshall knew it. Mary knew it. Hell, Laurence knew it and was likely going to tear the ex-ball player a new one if he caught sight of him. It had nothing to do with the tiny sprout of flat-out jealousy he harbored and every thing to do with the fact that the rarely-given trust Mary had put in the guy was going to blow up in her face like a time bomb _because he couldn't keep his mouth shut_. That pissed Marshall off worse then having an explosive activate on the floor beneath him and reduce the top two floors of the Sunshine building to rubble. Mary trusted _so rarely_ as it was…

He saw no signs of the county ME or cadaver dogs, so that was a good sign…chances were that Mary's family was alive, at least. Ever paranoid, Marshall snapped photos of every onlooker with his phone and jotted down license plates on Mary's note pad to be run later, focusing his irritation towards the culprit. They weren't stupid – that much was obvious – so he doubted they would be staying in plain sight. From the preliminary ballistics report Stan had shown him, the bullet that had nailed Cassie was a .338 Magnum and had been fired at a distance. Everything pointed to a sniper – or someone with enough knowledge to _be_ a decent one. Marshall didn't want to think that they were going against someone in the military, but his gut kept hanging onto that thought with the tenaciousness of a pit bull.

_Military means this won't be easy,_ he thought grimly, stretching his legs and wincing. They shouldn't feel that stiff, should they? _A military man would mean more bodies in the county morgue are likely._

Unwanted and unsettling, the image of Mary laid out on the ME's autopsy table flashed in his mind, deathly pale and a bullet hole straight through her temple. Marshall shook his head as if it would go away with enough force, his heart thumping a little harder – a little _too fast_ then was probably normal and his face feeling a little _too_ flushed even with the 90 degree heat – and he could only think of how much hell Mary was going to give him if he passed out before he heard shouting…lots of shouting.

And he tumbled head first out of the side of Mary's car.

* * *

Mary heard the pop of a sniper bullet before she saw Marshall go tumbling head first onto the pavement and her mind made the most logical conclusion given the evidence before her…like any good investigator's brain would.

Of course, this was Marshall, and as far as logic was concerned she couldn't really give a shit.

"_MARSHALL!"_ she screamed his name, panic filling her veins when he didn't move_, god damn it, MOVE_ and only Laurence shoving her flat behind her one of the fire trucks kept her from running to him at a sprint. The panic made her fingers shake as she grasped her Glock with both hands to steady it and searched, heart pounding a million times a minute in her chest, every second wasting precious time…

And then nothing. Blank, blissful nothing.

Mary was in a place that was not-quite-there and was hyper-focusing on her surroundings in a way she'd never done before. The shaking in her limbs halted abruptly and her ears only vaguely registered the local LEO's and marshals saying they had the perimeter secured and calling in for a medical team before she was walking _calmer then fucking calm_ to where her partner was. Focused on the bullet in the back of the Probe's window, the hole in the passenger side headrest where the bullet went through…and to Marshall's face-down head.

A head that had no hole.

She paused, baffled, and touched the back of his head and his disheveled brown hair, feeling no blood or hole, and that lethal stillness that seemed to slow time disappeared, time racing to catch up with her, and she suddenly heard all the clamoring and the sirens and shouting and felt _every mother fucking tremor_ as she sank to her knees near his head, gun slack in her hands, and cursed. Loudly. _Loud enough that even Dershowitz didn't dare go near her._

She was still cursing when she stormed into the hospital right behind the stretcher holding him, _stupid fucking moron cowboy, I told you to stay in the hospital and how DARE YOU pass out from some secondary damn infection and a fever, _promising him things Mary had no actual recollection of saying despite the EMT's assurances that she _did_ say them ten minutes after the fact and only vaguely aware that Laurence was loping in behind at a leisurely pace, stone-faced but amused. Most of her promises apparently involved several creative ways to induce near-death _because he was so stupid and should have fucking stayed in the hospital AS TOLD and not scared her to death _and then bring him back to life again _because he was not allowed to fucking die before her, damn it_, but no one could recall any of them when asked by the doctors why they had a furious marshal making death threats to her partner in their emergency room.

Selective amnesia _and scary women packing heat _just worked like that.

It was Stan who eventually led her away, reminding her of her frightened family who were not too far away in a private room upstairs waiting for her, and Mary tried to focus off those terrifying moments thinking that Marshall _walking encyclopedia of information useful and not Marshall_ was dead and succeeded. Sort of. Her heart still couldn't seem to stop beating ten times faster then normal and her fingers twitched when she was touched, nodding only once when Stan told her he'd be downstairs with Marshall and that _everything would be OK._

_OK. Right. It'll all be OK when Marshall is up and moving, because a severe infection is NOT LETHAL, the son of a bitch is caught, and I can find someone to shoot…preferably said scumbag that is trying to kill us all._ Mary stopped in front of the door, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath that was shakier then she liked. _My life is going to hell – AGAIN – and it isn't even fucking noon yet!_

Her head was held high as she opened the door and suddenly Brandi was in her arms, crying and _so glad you're alright,_ and her mother was weeping, confined to her hospital bed by a broken leg she apparently got from tripping in her haste to get outside when the fire started. Mary soothed them and made all the right noises even though all she wanted to do was go – _go get this sick bastard and shoot, shoot, SHOOT THEM ALL – _and make it all go away. Quickly. Preferably before dinner.

She sat Brandi in a chair, telling her it would be alright and brushing her hair out of her eyes like she'd always done a million times whenever she got upset, and then…

Then arms wrapped around her, trapping her in a hug that made her tense, and Raph was speaking rapid-fire Spanish that Mary only half understood. Basically being glad she was alright, if she understood it correctly.

_I'm not alright._ _Nothing will be alright until this sniper-fuck is put away until he's a pile of bones or six feet underground dancing the mambo with Lucifer himself._ She pulled away, shaking her head, and ignored the confused glances of her family to stare at Raph's dark eyes grimly. Anger bubbled just under her skin, hot and tingling, warming her in a way no man could. It wasn't his fault really but…it was. In her mind, in her eyes, it was. Everything that had happened today. The fire. The injuries. That mariachi-whistling janitor's death.

Everything.

_Why could he just not leave things alone?_ She understood, now, why the lowest scumbags on Earth could know her job and he, the man who was to be her husband, couldn't with crystal clarity. Those putrid piles of pus knew her secrecy was the only thing standing between them and whatever gang or mob boss wanted them dead – humanity's need for self-preservation that she knew only too well. But Raph…he _didn't understand._ She doubted he ever would, and that hurt. But she couldn't let him go, as Marshall had so aptly put it. _I painted myself in a corner so I'd have to marry him. God damn doofus...I hate it when he's right._ She wanted out because where once she'd at least felt lust she felt…anger. Agitation. But how? Raph was a fucking boy scout – he had no concept of the danger his slip of the tongue had put them all in. _Had put Marshall in._

Mary tried to imagine it…a world where her partner was gone. Unavailable to help her at odd hours of the night because the Probe chose to die on some hick road hidden in obscurity and could only be found because of the damn GPS he had planted in her car. Not there to back her up when they busted doors down to apprehend a fugitive or to make her spray milk out of her nose even if everything else around her was going to hell and back. She could not fathom it – didn't want to because of the ice cold chill of terror that ran straight down her spine just trying to picture it. No one to turn to. No one to trust _as she trusted him._

She knew who she could live without. And it wasn't Marshall.

_Being single for the rest of my life would be OK. That's what they invented vibrators for._ The thought calmed her, but it was a thought to tackle later. Not yet. Not until the sniper-shit was out of commission. _Priorities, Mary, priorities._ She eyed him – her boy scout of a fiancé she knew deserved so much better and had probably never had anyone hate him in his life – and looked at the door as Laurence stuck his head in, vibrating with stress and making very obvious eye movements towards the hall. _Get out here now._

Silent he was, but subtle he was _not._

Everything would've been fine if Raph hadn't grabbed her arm, his face upset and pleading. "_Dios mio,_ Mary. What's going on? What in the world is happening?" When she didn't speak, just looked at him with tired eyes as she wondered how many times they had this same conversation _every day_, he let go and threw up his hands, frustrated. "Of course we can't know. Is it the job? Is that it Mary? Because it has to do with whatever mob boss or gang banger…"

He did not get to say more. Mary was so tired, she doubted she could have stopped it anyway, and she felt guilty when the fist landed, but mostly she was just…tired. _So fucking tired of the same damn fight._ Laurence's fist sent Raph to the floor and before he could get to his feet he yanked her stunned fiancé up by the front of his shirt, whatever expression that was on his face scary enough that Brandi and her mother didn't even make a sound, though their horrified looks towards her weren't difficult to interpret.

_For God's sakes, Mary, help him!_

Infinitesimally, she shook her head once. _Not this time. His partner…his turn._

"Say one more word, _Shik'is,"_ he rumbled quietly, disdain and sarcasm dripping like molasses from a word she only knew was _not English_, his muscles quivering and just waiting. Raph was a tall man – taller then Laurence even – but even he looked pathetically small in the face of so much fury. Inanely, she wondered if this was what Marshall saw when she got pissed. If it was, she made a mental note to make him record it for her sometime. "Give me a reason." He jerked his shirt hard once when his wide-eyed gaze traveled to her, beseeching, and those dark eyes zoomed back to him, anger flaring and making him bold…or stupid, depending on one's interpretation.

Mary still wasn't sure which it was even after the first punch was thrown, her mother and sister screamed, and she dove in to pry the two idiot boys apart.

* * *

To Marshall's extensive knowledge, antibiotics didn't cause hallucinations, nor did any pain meds they may have given him, so the three people in his room had to be real…maybe. It was confusing, really, because he didn't remember them being as beat up as they were the last time he saw them. While he could rationalize Laurence's busted lip as Mary's work if she got pissed enough, he had no idea how the woman in question could be sporting an ugly yellow-purple bruise forming on the left side of her face from cheek to eye…or how Raphael had managed to come by getting his right hand put in a cast.

His mind ran through numerous scenarios, sparing a few brief moments to gaze at his legs to make sure they really were just some popped blisters that hurt like a bitch and the fever that was already dissipating, before eyeing the three of them with a quiet consideration only he was ever capable of achieving.

"_So…_what did I miss?"

_

* * *

Shik'is: _Navajo for "friend" (Please correct me if I'm wrong)

**A/N: I feel like I'm getting my footing with this story…hopefully. And who didn't know Raph getting decked wasn't coming? Anyone who does gets a cookie! And what creative tortures will Mary bestow upon Marshall for is inopportune fainting act I wonder…? Hehehe….**

**As always, please give me some feedback. You know you want to. =)**


	4. Chapter Three

**Less action, more all around drama this time around. The really fun stuff is coming...soon. Just be patient and bear with me!  
**

**~SRDempsey**

_**

* * *

Fury and Flames**_

**Chapter Three**

The silence was deafening and grating on Stan's every last nerve.

"I'm not apologizing," Laurence muttered stubbornly, arms crossed over his chest as he and his five remaining inspectors gathered in their temporary conference room, almost a day after the double arson case making the APD Chief go prematurely gray. Stan sympathized – _really, he did – _but he didn't have the time to linger on his sympathy either. Not with one of his marshals out of action, another still injured (even if he was cleared for duty against the doctor's wishes), and two more injured because of fits of ire.

"Did I say you had to?" He glanced at Mary, mildly concerned that her expression had remained stonily cold through most of it. Part of it was the obvious disdain Josiah Messing was shooting at her, but not all of it. His stubborn inspector didn't care about the older inspector's opinion of her _that _much. Something else was going on in her head – something bad – and he could only trust that Marshall would be there to handle it when it eventually came out. "Are we clear on your duties for the moment?"

Micah DiFranco, the second oldest inspector after Josiah at 37, whined a bit as he nodded. "Why do Shannon and Mann get to have all the fun? I get why Harper there gets to dive head first into this mess, but why them?" Facing Mary, he said without rancor, "No offense, Shannon, but your boy toy _is_ the reason this fuck-head is trying to kill us."

"There would be no mess if she had followed the rules," Josiah huffed, his expression severe. "They are there for a reason – to protect our security and that of our witnesses."

"Now that's just harsh, Jossie," Micah grinned, touching his partner's arm, and the older man twitched and slid his chair away ever so slightly. "Aw, come on, you know you like it, sugah."

Clearing his throat, Stan took the floor before Josiah could blow a blood vessel or Micah went wild with his teasing. "Inspector Shannon's identity is the one that has been compromised at present. This could very well be a personal attack, or one against one of her witnesses, so she will need to be devoting her time to this for the time being." His lip quirked slightly. "And would either of you dare send her into anything without Marshall?"

They both eyed Marshall, his bemused smile, and eventually shook their heads. "No."

"We get it," Micah added, disappointed but accepting. "We can juggle all the witnesses for a while. You did say Denver WITSEC was going to loan us some people to help too, right?" He eyed the list of cases active pointedly. "Shannon and Mann juggle three times as much as either of our own teams on any given day. That's a total of about 100 people, including Harper and Hayner's loads."

"They will arrive some time tomorrow," he nodded. "For now, I want you to go around to every family and see if anyone has been getting into trouble that might've caused this crazy bastard to come after them. Understood?"

They nodded and left, though not before Josiah shot one last scornful look Mary's way. Stan just rubbed his temple, tired and frustrated. That fight would just have to simmer until after they managed to catch this asshole. "As for you three…"

"I ran the photos through all the databases and the license plates of all the cars in the area – no hits." Marshall didn't look surprised and, quite frankly, neither was Stan. He hadn't expected anything. "The bullet shot through the car was the same kind that hit Cassie – .338 Magnum." At this, he looked mildly more irritated. "Had I not passed out, it would've went straight through the back of my head. He was aiming to kill, just like with Cassie if her own clumsiness hadn't saved her at the last minute."

"HQ wants us to find this bastard. He's our top priority right now." He looked all three of them in the eyes, leaving Laurence for last. "I let you in on this because Cassie _is_ your partner and I know you both are close. Do not pull a stupid stunt like that again or I will put you on leave as directed. Understood?"

"Yes boss." His eyes shined with a ferocious light that made Stan hope he wouldn't do something stupid. Again.

"Marshall." _Always my most reliable inspector, thank god._

"Don't worry Stan," he chirped, far too cheerful then Stan would've liked. "I'll watch after them both."

_Of that, I don't doubt,_ he mused as the three of them left. _The matter of if you'll actually stop them is what worries me._

* * *

The first place they decided to visit, after much arguing, was the restaurant, though her phone rang before they could leave in Marshall's truck _because her Probe was still being impounded for evidence, damn it_ and she listened to her mother's panicked voice before shutting her phone with a smack harder then was necessary and telling Marshall, "Drive to the hospital."

He drove without question, though his face was concerned. "Is something wrong? I take it from her tone of voice that your mom didn't win the lottery…"

Mary sighed, slid her shades into place, and closed her eyes as she tried to counter the throb of a beginning headache. "Not wrong so much as ironic." Rolling her head to look at him and ignoring their temporary 'third partner', who was tuning them out with an ease she was thankful for,Mary said dryly, "The DOJ is offering to put them in temporary witness protection until this sniper-fuck is caught."

"Oh," was all he said, nodding as if it weren't the irony of all ironies, and pressed the gas pedal a little harder. "Raph too?"

She sighed, long and heavy. "Raph too."

The speedometer inched a little higher.

Mary had not planned to see him so soon after that little fight, but it was probably better sooner than later. She glanced into the rear view mirror and caught Laurence's hard-eyed gaze and arched her eyebrow once. "Behave."

"I will if he does," he grumbled, not whining but still managing to sound like a petulant child somehow. _Go figure._

"Don't shoot him, regardless," Marshall added with his lips twisted into a wry smile. "It's messier then it's worth to explain."

"You be nice too, doofus," she said, only half meaning it. Mary felt that heavy weight of bone-deep exhaustion pull at her again and couldn't muster enough ire to even care on Raph's behalf for the moment. "You've certainly never been his fan."

"No I'm not, but I also know he's a good guy."

Mary stared at him, lip quirking. "Now, now, Santa won't bring you a new pair of wacky PJs for Christmas if you lie…"

Marshall grinned. "I am not lying. You didn't let me finish. Raph is a good guy, but he's not good enough for my best friend."

It was probably the first time he'd verbally put that thought to words, though she'd known it was his opinion of the other man in her life for a while now. Mary felt the weight of it like an anchor around her feet and shut her eyes to the almost tangible things in those words that she didn't want to face. They were like the dark and scary house on the street you walked a little faster in front of because you instinctively knew it was scary and you wouldn't like what you saw, but sang a siren's song that tempted you to look _just once._ Just one peek, but Mary resisted, because analyzing and observing those mysterious things just beyond that vine-draped iron fence would mean she couldn't turn a blind eye anymore every time she had to encounter them. _She could not turn away and pretend it wasn't there._

If she didn't look, she could still believe the words were just his concern for his best friend.

If Mary refused her temptation to look, she could still believe without any hesitation at all that Marshall would always be there. Always. Without fail.

She had to refuse to look, because if she did, the idea of not being able to implicitly trust – trust he would remain her equal, trust he wouldn't have outrageous expectations of her that she would fail with, _trust that she would never disappoint at least him_ – her only friend in the world after that hurt worse then any bullet ever could.

So Mary refused, _ran as far from that ominous gate of temptation as her legs could carry her_, and Marshall let her like always. Steadfast, understanding, and _at her back _Marshall.

_We'll get through this,_ she thought, rubbing her fingers against the scratched and tarnished badge at her hip comfortingly. _So long as he's here, I'll be fine, because that's just what we do. We survive pasty little accountant pricks and punk ass little gang-bangers and bullets that sting like a bitch._ Her eyes met his that were gazing side-long at her habitual motion, that same leisurely smile she'd known for years now on his face.

_We'll survive._

* * *

Marshall had a fair idea of what to expect when he stood behind Mary outside the hospital room belonging to her mother, but he was looking forward to it about as much as she was. And that wasn't much at all.

But Mary was no coward.

She pushed the door open with more force then was probably necessary, her eyes still hidden behind the wide-framed 'cop shades', as she so joked they were called. He followed behind her, their erstwhile 'third arm', as it were, off to see his own partner. Right now, Marshall felt like very little was holding his own partner together at the moment – as if every seam that held her together was coming apart under all the heat being thrown at her.

He laid a gentle, _non-pressuring because Mary didn't respond to pressure well_, hand on her shoulder, laying the support he offered out there for the taking if she so chose to accept it. Marshall felt Raph's gaze stare at his hand the minute his attention shifted there, but he ignored him largely and concentrated on Mary who leaned back against his hand, very visibly relaxing her shoulders slightly.

"Mary! Thank god you're here." Jinx Shannon looked about as sober as anyone did, though her flair for dramatic moments was as good as always. She motioned wildly at the DOJ rep who looked ready to bolt – _or was that cry? – _and exclaimed, "They're telling us this crazy person is after _you?_ Honey, I told you this job-"

Mary's hand jerked up, halting whatever her mother was going to say mid-sentence.

"My job is what pays the mortgage every month and keeps the food stocked in the fridge." She shook her head, rephrasing whatever it was she was planning to say next. "Besides the fact that I just love my job, which I told you when we first had this discussion, I will never quit my job. End of that discussion."

She didn't say it out loud, but in the brief silence that followed, Marshall knew what she was saying in her head.

_And what would this doofus do without me?_

It was almost amusing to Marshall, really. He was a _5__th__ generation U.S. Marshal._ He was fully capable of taking care of himself, and yet Mary truly believed he would be lost without her on the job. Emotionally, he almost certainly would be, but on the job? Really?

Brandi, who was oddly quiet during this whole scene, seemed aware in a way Marshall didn't believe was common place for her…like she had all the pieces to the puzzle in front of her this time instead of scraping conclusions from only a few pieces. Mary's little sister was smarter then anyone – herself included – gave her credit for being in certain ways…mostly emotionally ever since that drug fiasco. "They said it's best if we go into Witness Protection, at least temporarily." Her mascara-smudged eyes looked at Mary then in a way Marshall recognized only too well. _In a way loaded with hidden meaning. _"That they're willing to offer it to us because of what you do."

_She knows. Or she at least suspects, but realizes not to ask_. Marshall forced himself not to look at Raph. _If only he could make the same logic jump BRANDI has. Brandi, who still believes lemons are really bright limes, but who gets that she can't ask Mary about her job._

Such was the ways of life though, it seemed.

"Marshals protect their own, Squish." Mary smiled slightly, ruffling her hair that was already frazzled six ways to Sunday. "Even if most of them aren't happy with me at the moment."

"I'm not one of them," he put in before their heads even completed the rotation to look at him.

"But I don't understand…" Jinx fretted, "They're telling me you won't join us?"

"The offer does not extend to Marshal Shannon," said the DOJ rep Marshall was convinced was an idiot and couldn't hide his cringe in time.

_Here we go._

"Why _not?!"_ Jinx Shannon sat straight up, motherly concern fueling her righteous anger. "That psycho is after _my daughter!_ And you're telling me you won't _protect her!?"_

"Mom." Before she could launch herself bodily at the man, Mary stepped in and placed a hand against her shoulder and pressed her back. "I wouldn't even if offered. I have to help put this bastard down." She glanced at him then, her eyes targeting his legs that were covered but still blotchy with broken skin and nerves rubbed raw that hurt him enough that he had a slower gait then normal. "You and Brandi and Raph need to go. They'll put you somewhere safe until Marshall and I can get rid of him and you'll be back harassing me about my job before you know it."

Jinx was going to argue – it was in her face and her body language, but he was surprised that Brandi actually stood and grabbed her sister in a tight hug.

"We'll go," she sniffed, but with enough force that it stunned her mother to silence because it barred no argument. "We'll go but you have to be safe." Brandi's eyes found him then – pointed, pleading. _Make her be safe._

Marshall only nodded his head, once. _You didn't even have to ask._

Raph, however, shook his head – stubbornly. "No. No way am I going to leave Mary with this _mucho loco_…" He waved his hands, unable to iterate his point accurately. "The house is gone, Mary. Where will you even stay?"

Marshall _did not_ smile when she jerked her thumb at him. She hadn't asked him about staying at his house at all, but he hadn't expected her to – would've wondered what was wrong with her if she _hadn't_ expected to crash at his place. Because, honestly, when had she ever even needed to ask? It was just unspoken that his door was always open to her, the same way hers was to him. He just took advantage of that perk a lot less then she did.

"I'm staying with him," she said with a shrug, uncomprehending of why it might bother anyone, let alone Raph, but that was just Mary. Oblivious to the complexities of the male ego.

Which is why Marshall supposed he did the stupidest thing on Earth when Raph adamantly refused to go into Witness Protection. He regretted it the moment it left his mouth and pinned it as the only time in his life that his brain _had not thought something through enough_.

"Why don't you stay at my place as well then?"

**

* * *

A/N: So. Marshall, Mary, and Raph…all under Marshall's roof. Can anyone say fun days ahoy? =)**

**Hopefully, you liked this. Working on the next chapter already. Happy Labor Day all!**

**Let me know how you liked this. Come on, press it! You can do it!**


	5. Chapter Four

**I apologize for the delay…I got screencap happy. And had a bout of insanity by joining the NaNoWriMo 2009. (**_Introduced to me by Sassy516 in a review from "Marshall's Guide"_**). Whether I am grateful for the intro to this writing challenge remains to be seen. Anyway. Here is Chapter 4! Enjoy!**

**~SRDempsey**

_**

* * *

Fury and Flames**_

**Chapter Four**

"_Are you an __**idiot**__?"_

"Possibly," Marshall agreed dryly as he stood outside the emergency room doors and listened to his mother question his sanity. Ever the cop, she'd somehow gotten wind of the trouble blowing here in Albuquerque and had phoned him quicker then he'd expected. But really, he should've known better. Rose Mann had single handedly run her own unit in the police force for nearly twenty years in a time where women were openly considered lesser then a man in positions of power. Men were chauvinistic still, but less vocal about it with more women like his mother and Mary populating the world _because they were more then capable of self-preservation and rather fancied their ability to father children_.

Marshall didn't mind talking to his mother really…except that he was too honest with her. More honest then any son should be with his mother probably, and he'd blurted his ill-conceived suggestion to Raph out to her knowing full well she was already well aware of his chronic attachment to said man's fiancée/his hell-raiser partner.

Hence the questioning of his intelligence.

She sighed and tsked over the phone line, exasperated with a touch of affection because he'd always been this way. His father had been his brother's sounding board about girls and women, but for him? Marshall had always gone to his mother. It had made perfect sense, in his teenage mind, to ask for advice about women _from_ a woman. Who knew women better then another woman, after all?

His father still though he was touched in the head because of that.

"_Just be careful,"_ she warned him. _"It won't take much for this gesture of kindness to backfire. Culturally, this Raphael is different. He had different values then you or even this Mary who I really would like to meet one day. What is normal and innocent for you both may not be perceived as such by him and he has demonstrated already that he is jealous of you in at least one sense. Mary sounds like the man in this partnership, for lack of a better term darling, so you have to be the girl, Marshall. Be the girl. Read the emotions."_

"Yes mother," he droned, making a face. "Shall I wear the makeup and brassiere too?"

"_Don't get smart with me!"_ She was laughing as she said this, however, so Marshall merely smiled and glanced at his watch. 4pm. They still had time to swing by the restaurant for the guest list if they left now. Mary had probably had her fill of her mother and sister before they got buried in whatever town or city the USMS chose for them and Laurence…well, there really was no limit to his ability for staying complacently at his partner's side. He left it when necessary and came back the second he was able to. _"Just keep your head on firmly and you'll be OK. You're resilient, like garden weeds."_

"Love you too mom," he chuckled, shaking his head. Now he was like a garden weed? The week just kept getting better. "I'll call you again once I'm able."

"_Be safe."_ And then she was gone, obviously worried but utterly confident that he'd come out on top in the end. It made him proud that she thought so highly of him, but Marshall wasn't so sure this time around. They were dealing with professional level enemies and were operating at a severe disadvantage where the enemy knew all about them…but they knew absolutely nothing about him.

All the marksmanship in the world wouldn't save him if he had no idea what he was shooting at.

Marshall made his way back to the room, unsurprised that Mary was waiting for him outside of Cassie Hayner's room, her face set in stone. _So they've moved them already._ The knowledge was right there on her face and he didn't ask her to verbally confirm it, instead merely placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a brief squeeze before letting it drop. "Not going to say hello?" he teased, motioning towards the room with his head.

"What's the point? She can't hear me."

"Actually, studies show coma patients actually-" The words halted as she slapped a hand over his mouth, grinning behind her palm unashamedly.

With a _shut the hell up before I shoot you _look, Mary walked into the room without prompting. The private little room was a replica of Jinx's, except the occupant of this one was completely still under the clean sheets and had bandages wrapped around a good majority of her head. Laurence sat by her side, feet propped up alongside hers on the bed and his fingers toying idly with her untouched hand habitually. He murmured in a language Marshall couldn't understand but recognized as Navajo, but he had a feeling he knew the gist of what was being said.

_The unfathomable bond between partners,_ he mused. _The best ones are either your best friend or the bane of your existence._

"I will be back," Laurence whispered into her ear, as intimate as a lover, and Mary raised her eyebrow at the gesture minutely. With a gentle kiss to her bandaged temple, his dark eyes turned to regard them flatly. "Are we ready to go?"

Mary was still looking at him like he was a curious bug under a microscope doing something intriguing but nodded. "Let's go, Geronimo. Times a wastin' and daylights a burnin'."

They piled into his GMC with little fuss, though Mary still kept looking at the man in the back seat with that loudly quiet _because only Mary could not ask question VERY LOUDLY _expression on her face. Marshall could practically see her mind turning as she tried to figure out the dynamic between the two junior inspectors in the office.

"Just ask," Laurence finally rumbled. "The loud silence is far more irritating."

She did and, like everything else about his partner, she cut straight to the heart of things without preamble.

"So were you sleeping with her?"

Marshall just slid his shades on and shook his head. _Oh boy. Sorry Stan._

* * *

'_La Carina Notte'_ looked as beautiful in the setting light of the sun as it did in the dead of night with all its strung up lights turned on and Mary still felt like she should turn the other way. Marshall appraised it with a pleased nod of his head, obviously impressed by what he saw and probably making plans to return here in his time off, either with a book or with some woman. With Marshall, you just never knew.

"_Buonasera signores e signora,"_ the beautiful tart of a hostess beamed, young and lovely and full of curves even Mary could appreciate. Everything about her, from her Italian accent to her tastefully snug clothes, screamed confidence. And she was certainly interested in her partner from the eyeful she took in of him before smiling just a bit brighter. _"Tre persone?"_

"_Buonasera, signorina,"_ Marshall shot back as he flashed his badge and his most charming smile, the accent only marginally better then his French one. "U.S. Marshals. We've come to ask for the transaction logs from June 20th?"

"I see." Any accent had disappeared from her voice with the flashing of the worn star on his hip. "We'd love to help, but that might be a problem. Our systems had a crash last month and a good majority of our transaction records from that month were lost. Come, I will bring you to my father. He knows more of it then I would and will help you if he can."

"_Grazie." _Marshall's face wasn't happy. Laurence never looked happy to begin with, but this news certainly didn't help his mood any. "Accident?"

"Sure, and I'm just a really tan white boy," Laurence shot at him dryly.

Mary snorted just a bit. They ignored her.

The office the hostess brought them to was small and off of the busy kitchen area. There was just enough room for a few chairs and a desk that was overflowing with receipts and a brand new looking computer that an older, sort of handsome man in a nicely cut suit was glaring at as if the look would make it do what he wanted through sheer will. Mary sympathized. Her own monstrosity at work defied her constantly and she refused to keep one at home despite Marshall's needling. One pain in the ass hunk of junk was enough.

"_Papa,"_ said the hostess, smiling slightly at the sight. Obviously, it was a common thing to see. "The U.S. Marshals are here. They wish for the logs of our transactions from June 20th."

"Please come in." His angular face raised to meet their eyes, congenial and curious. "Close the door behind you, Rosina."

They remained silent until they heard the telling click of the latch shut.

"I'd love to help you with that, marshals, but I'm afraid the system crash wiped out most of it. I can give you what little we recovered from our old system, but…"

"Do you still have your old hard drive?" Mary could hear the techno-nerd rearing his twisted head, and she eyed him side long with only mild exasperation.

"It is probably still out by the dumpster unless someone picked it up," the owner supplied, "We only got these new…things…in two days ago."

Marshall shot her one look – _play nice while I'm gone – _and excused himself in short order.

Surely she could manage to _not_ piss someone off in the two or three minutes it would take him to pick the offending machine up, right?

* * *

Luck just wasn't with them.

Because of course he had to catch some local punks making off with the computer, excited by their find, and _of course_ they felt the need to run when he called out to them and they saw the badge. Marshall wasn't happy running 3 damn blocks just for a computer he had little hope about recovering anything exceedingly useful from, but which might give them hints in other directions. So when he finally got the computer from the bumbling teen, he might've taken a little bit of a sick pleasure in squeezing the brat a bit before letting him go.

_There better be something worthwhile on here,_ he thought with a wince, his legs complaining and telling him just what they thought about the impromptu workout with a vengeance. He could walk and even sprint a _very_ short distance, but running was still supposed to be off limits for him. The opened welts scraped against his jeans and suddenly they felt like sandpaper, grinding against the sensitive skin and raw nerve endings with each stride he took. Marshall had a reasonably high tolerance for minor pains and the like, but these hurt like a bitch and made him wonder just how much of his nerves had been exposed in that blaze. A fair amount if the pain was any indication.

_And of course I can't ask Stan for time off, even if he probably would give it to me…_

He just couldn't shoot Stan and the USMS in the proverbial head like that.

Marshall had no illusions about his position. He was the only thing standing between Mary and the world, alternating between protecting the two from each other. Leaving her and Laurence – another example of an exotic animal in his own right, but much more lethal – alone with the restaurant owner wasn't the best of ideas either, but he needed the exercise. He needed to _move_ and feel even mildly helpful because just sitting back and letting Mary and Laurence do the leg work made him uneasy. Antsy. _Agitated_.

And then he saw the fire.

Marshall heard the crash, somewhere from the front of the restaurant, before he heard the loud pop of fire igniting some kind of accelerant. Alarms rang and people darted out from the building shrieking, sprinklers activating to try and squelch the fire before it got out of control. He felt a brief moment of severe consternation – _what the hell is it with these people and fire? – _before he hit the parking lot and let the ignition roar, tires squealing as he reeled around to the back where he _knew_ they'd be waiting.

Mary in front and Laurence pulling up the rear, Mary had the back door open before he even came to a complete stop, part of her hair singed and covered in plaster dust.

Laurence didn't have a mark on him.

"What happened?" he demanded when he was certain they were as safe as they could get, the sirens of the fire truck already getting louder with each second that passed.

The look Mary shot him both confirmed his fears and assured him that she was relatively unharmed. "What does it look like, doofus? They tried to kill me!"

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

The look she gave him answered that rather effectively. Mary liked hospitals about as much as she liked con artists. "What I need is a shower, chocolate, and sex - not necessarily in that order."

With an exaggerated bow of his head and a tip of an invisible hat, Marshall smiled slightly and said, "And what my lady wishes, she shall receive." _Just not all from me. Unfortunately._

Perhaps wisely, Laurence stayed utterly silent during the entire exchange._  
_

* * *

If there was one thing Mary liked about Marshall's house is that it was relaxing. Sort of like Marshall himself. And just as multi-faceted.

He had trinkets _everywhere_. Their first year of partnership had been spent listening to every single story in every little thing that he kept, from photos to little rocks he'd collected as a kid because he thought they were dropped from space. He was proud of his heritage – as displayed by the old black and white photos of marshals long past hanging in his hallway amongst the vibrant colors of the recent generations – and made sure his house expressed himself. His taste, his mentality, his _out-of-left-field_ personality.

Seeing Raph in the middle of all that was just simply _Marshall_ was somehow…irritating.

Extremely. Irritating.

Marshall didn't say much as he walked in, though Mary was sure he'd probably forgotten about him for awhile. His face simply shut down, eyes skirting to her with questions she had a fair idea about. Mary didn't plan on answering them – _not now and possibly not ever if she could swing that – _and simply pretended she didn't notice them. At all. "I'm going to take a shower," she finally said, too tired to think of much else and tired of smelling like fungus-covered plaster. She distantly heard Raph begin to say something, but his voice died with the shut of the door and a turn of the shower faucet. She stripped off her clothes and stepped in, her muscles relaxing as the hot water soothed the muscles that had been bunched up since the whole fiasco had begun.

_Wash it away. Just make it go…away._ She glared in the direction she knew Marshall's room was, wondering if he was there winding down. _Doofus has to be a saint. Has to open his house to Raph the one time I really can't see him. Not yet. Not when all I think of when I see him is that damn dinner and the fire._ She sighed, groaning loud in frustration, and shook her head under the spray. _It's so like him, but hell. I really want to shake him. Badly. Rattle that big brain in his obscenely large head and ask him what he'd been drinking before he offered such a thing and WHY DIDN'T HE SHARE? Especially after all the good whiskey I let him poach from my bottom drawer!_

She wasn't much surprised that Raph was in her designated room – the small 12x12 box room directly across from Marshall's junk room turned Raph's room. It was her "unofficial" room in his house, seeing as she often crashed here if they got back from witness details or escorts late. She kept a few pairs of spare clothes and undergarments for emergency in the hand-me-down dresser he'd placed in there. All her important papers – her living will and various other forms – were tucked securely in a fire-proof lock-box in the bottom drawer along with her father's old Glock 27 and some spare magazines just in case. Other then those things there was nothing claiming the room was hers, per se, except for her intimate knowledge of it and the bedside table drawer that was always stocked with chocolate and spare .40 S&W magazines because of her habit of sleeping with her gun underneath her pillow.

It was a stash she dove into now, garbed in nothing but a towel and a small pounding of a headache beginning at her temple. She needed chocolate…or sex. Maybe both. She eyed him speculatively, considering. The engagement was one thing, but until the sniper-fuck was caught, she would stay quiet. Raph was the type that would go he-man stupid, insisting he was fine and get himself killed because he would underestimate the danger. While she was pissed with him, she didn't want him dead. So when the danger was passed she would break the engagement and deal with the emotional fallout – _of which she knew there would be – _and be free. _Spread your wings and fucking fly away_ free.

She was plotting. Mary imagined it was probably a bad idea – one Marshall would probably point out smacked far too close on using a man who really did have feelings for her like a whore – but the angry, irritated marshal almost didn't care. Not really. This was what they were _supposed _to be. Fuck buddies. That was it. Not a girlfriend that she'd simply…gone into being before she ever realized it. Not the fiancée who felt stone cold whenever she thought about any wedding to anyone. Just…casual sex. Because the sex was good. Banging-the-headboards good.

Mary was plotting. Thinking. _Planning._

_And won't Marshall just be so proud?_

_

* * *

Buonasera signores e signora: _Good evening gentlemen and lady. (To the best of my knowledge, anyway.)

_Tre persone: _Three people

_Buonasera signorina:_ Good evening, Miss

**A/N: And here is the next installment. Mary, Mary, Mary…what am I going to do with her? *Sigh* And Rose Mann makes a cameo!**

**As always, please review. I love the feedback. Makes me feel all warm and tingly…**


	6. Chapter Five

**Just in case it isn't obvious, this operates on a completely different timeline then "Marshall's Guide". Mary still hasn't ever met, or even knows of Marshall's family yet.**

**Enjoy!**

**~SRDempsey**

_**

* * *

Fury and Flames**_

**Chapter Five**

There were many things Marshall never wanted to see in his life. Ever.

This was one of them.

It was not the first time he'd walked into the guest bathroom to grab toilet paper for his master bath. It wasn't even the first time he'd walked in on _Mary_ in the bath. He did so with a grudgingly pleasing frequency whenever she stayed over purely by accident _because even he wasn't that desperate for a naked woman_. After working with her for a year, he even managed to stop blushing about it because it just wasn't worth the teasing she dished out on him in the end.

It was, however, his first time catching her _flagrante delicto_. With Raph. In the shower.

Marshall clamped down slightly on his toothbrush that was hanging out of his mouth, toothpaste foam forming a thin mustache around his upper lip. Yes, he was jealous. Who wouldn't be? Mary was a lovely, full-bodied woman. He was not a eunuch, nor was he immune. He did, however, have self-restraint – most of which he exercised _all the time_ concerning said woman anyway.

Now, unfortunately, was no different.

The curtain of the shower pulled back enough for Mary to poke her head out when he opened the door at the same time Raph cursed a string of Spanish over the pounding of the water. "A little busy here doofus, you know?"

"Reverse positions," he said lightly, as if telling her the weather while bending to grab a toilet roll from under the sink, his gaze studiously staying averted. It would be very much like Mary to flash him, just to get a reaction. "Better pleasure and easier on the back for us tall guys." He left without another word, though Mary's raucous laughter was easily audible through the walls.

Now if only he could burn the image from his memories, it might even be the start to a relatively good day.

* * *

Raph was _still_ cursing when she left him in his room, obviously irked, but Mary was amused…sort of. She was a little unsure of Marshall's reaction to this morning, and irritated by the uncomfortable feeling in her gut. It was the kind of feeling like she'd desecrated a sacred shrine without realizing it.

But mostly, she was just amused.

_It's not like I'm cheating on him, _she decided, shaking it off. But the feeling still killed that refreshing feeling of depressurizing she always had after good sex, which was annoying. And Marshall was still Marshall, his crooked grin in place when she met him in the kitchen while he pulled a Betty Crocker and whipped them up some breakfast.

"We don't really have time to eat," she pointed out without real conviction, eyeing the waffles and…was that _homemade_ strawberry syrup? _Christ, I need to crash here more often. Or maybe move in here. I'm sure he wouldn't care. Jinx and Brandi can have the house._

Of course, the reminder of her family killed her mood quicker then anything.

Not knowing was…_annoying_. Agitating. Frustrating. She wondered if her mother would stay sober – wasn't it in the WITSEC contract? Peter hadn't been happy about it when she'd called to tell him yesterday, before Marshall had come and found her in the hospital. But he ultimately wanted Brandi safe, so he hadn't complained. Much. He, at least, knew all the money in the world couldn't guarantee her safety – or his – and that any help was more likely to backfire and get them all killed. Well-meaning, but very ill-conceived.

Maybe he could convince Raph of that.

_The sex is good, _she lamented, but this lingering feeling was enough to guarantee that she wasn't likely to try for it again. It was…unsettling. Perhaps because it was Marshall's house. It felt like she was screwing him on Marshall's bed behind his back. It just…no. _Hell_ no.

_Great. A psycho trying to kill me and self-enforced celibacy. _She scowled without realizing.

"Relax," her partner told her simply, poking her creased forehead with his forefinger and setting a steaming plate of freshly made waffles with fresh strawberry syrup on top in front of her. Mouthwatering didn't even cover it. "Eat. Pie makes everything better, but waffles cure the world." He kept a perfectly serious face as he said this.

"God, shut up," she groaned, toasting him with her fork in thanks before digging in.

She didn't notice when Raph came into the room at all…or the expression that flashed across his face.

* * *

"Hey! You didn't die!"

Stan glanced up at Micah's exuberant herald, relieved when his number one team walked through the glass doors as if it was a normal day. You'd never think Marshall was still recovering from burns or Mary had nearly been killed by the Molotov cocktails that had burned down half of _La Carina Notte_ before the fire department had managed to put it out.

"We got a car description from witnesses," he told them point blank, rubbing his temple that was thrumming with a headache. "A non-descript white van. Old. No lead on the license plate."

"Joy," Mary drawled, about enthusiastic about that as Stan figured she would be. If nothing else, he knew his marshals well. "That should narrow it down to a couple thousand or so _in the area alone_."

"That's not the best part!" Micah called. His partner was nowhere to be seen, which was probably a blessing. Josiah's opinion of Mary had yet to change much. "We got a lead! Or at least, a lead was brought _to us._" He was practically bouncing in his temporary seat, no doubt hoping he could get in on the fun.

_When did my marshals all become so bloodthirsty?_

"From who?" This from Marshall, ever cautious to believe in good fortune despite the hope in his tone. _Always my most paradoxical marshal._

And then the shriek split the air.

"_Marshy!"_ Her voice vibrated off the chamber walls like an echo, grabbing his most secretive inspector and smacking an exuberant kiss right on his lips. He didn't move, merely shot an exasperated look his way and whined.

Loudly.

"_Stan~!" _He looked rather petulant, really, and Stan cracked a slight grin in response. Mary's positively boggle-eyed expression was just as priceless as Marshall's half-hearted glare. "Really Stan? You just had to?" He looked at Mary and whined, the girl still hanging from around his neck, "Mary, Stan's being mean!"

Mary just stared at him, motioning with an expectant wave of her arms in his general direction. "Wanna fill me in, doofus? I'm obviously missing a key bit of information here!" She sounded a little irked too, eyeing the girl hanging from Marshall's critically.

_Here it comes._

"Hi!" Positively bubbling, she flashed a replica of Marshall's usual grin, and Mary blinked, startled. Stan sympathized. He'd had the exact same reaction. "I'm Rachel Mann." She detached herself and grabbed Mary in a similar kiss so fluidly no one could stop or warn her about the proverbial _NO TOUCH_ policy slapped on Mary's forehead, but Stan doubted the girl would listen, anyway.

None of Marshall's family seemed prone to listening much to anyone.

The other one chose that moment to sling a casual arm around Mary's shoulders, grinning the family grin but on a face that looked too much like Marshall's then was honestly comfortable. A Marshall clone, but with three times as much girth and all around body mass. Which was probably his saving grace, because Mary froze right before she would've brought out the pain. Her head whipped around between the three near-identical faces and dead on expressions before she finally turned on him, confusion and surprise making her irritable and annoyed.

"Stan! _What did you do!?"_

* * *

Her mind was going to explode.

It was Marshall times three, only one of them was a bouncy female and the other was a him on steroids and a body more closer to Raph's then the skinny and almost girly lithe figure she was acquainted with. Mary gave up following their simultaneous conversation, all spoken at once and somehow understood despite being said _at the same freaking time._

She just stood back with Stan, Eleanor, and the ever-hopeful Micah, watching the entertainment unravel.

"Why are you both here?" she managed to make out, her put out partner looking quite exasperated.

It sounded like Rachel, the sister, said, "Well honestly, after we came down here and everything!" but Mary could've interpreted the jumble of words wrong.

Jared, the brother, tossed out very clearly, "Would you rather have had dad come? It's the only other alternative mom would allow," and the expression that crossed Marshall's face made Mary snort.

She'd have to ask him about that. Later. _Much later._

The sister fussed at this point about the building collapse, his burns, and they both wrestled him onto a chair so she could yank up his pant legs despite his yowled protests and fruitless pleas for help at them. Mary was temporarily distracted as her gaze travelled to his legs, the red burns not as angry and starting to heal. The peeling skin was more noticeable then before and she twitched when Rachel somehow pulled off a piece nearly as big as her palm. Both siblings scowled, displeased, and Marshall seemed to give up his protesting with a heavy sigh, massaging his temples with a twist of his lips.

"I'm fine," he repeated needlessly. "Really. _And stop feeling up my leg!"_

Female-Mann pouted but acquiesced.

"Now what is this about a _lead?"_ he stressed, getting them back to the point and rolling his pants back down before they could get distracted. Again.

Apparently, distraction really _did_ run in his family. And the nose. And the eyes.

Christ, it was like she was on a hallucinogen but without the pleasantly disjointed and not-quite-there feeling.

"I found a person of interest for you," Rachel said seriously with a change of moods so quickly that it gave Mary whiplash, the young woman kicking back on a chair with her feet propped on the table, long legs crossed in a way that distracted Micah from her words to her shapely exterior. "It's my area of expertise after all. CIA and all that."

"_Black hat,"_ Marshall muttered with affection, grabbing the folder she dangled in front of him.

"Gray hat," she corrected, grinning, and Mary looked at Marshall for elaboration, utterly lost on the joke.

She didn't miss Stan covering his ears though, not wanting to hear it and rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"Gunnery Sergeant Gregory Hollands, US Marines. Scout Sniper. Honorably discharged 7 months ago and diagnosed with PTSD 6 months ago. A real pride to our Marine Corps, actually." Jared pointed at something in the folder that made Marshall's eyebrow arch, and his eyes raised up to meet hers in alarm.

Crap. That couldn't be good.

"Gunnery Sergeant Holland's wife and sixteen year old daughter, Cheryl and Ana Hollands, were brutally raped and murdered two days before his return home in New York." Rachel stabbed at the folder pointedly. "According to my sources, all of which are quite reliable, Hollands nearly lost his mind and has drunk himself into a hole since his return despite interventions done by his old company and friends. As of right now, he's been visiting his sister-in-law, Linette Meyers, for the past two months." With a beaming grin, obviously proud of herself, she added, "And _guess_ where Mrs. Meyers lives?"

Mary swiped the file out of Marshall's grip and looked, adrenaline making her antsy as her eyes focused onto the sister-in-law's location. "Well, well, right at our back door. Feel like taking a field trip, doofus? I suddenly have an urge to go pay my old home a visit."

_And if I get to shoot someone, it's all the better!_

* * *

"How the hell can you not know your own neighbors?"

"_Why_ are you here again?" Mary glared, turning away from the binoculars briefly to scowl at their 'third wheel'. As far as third arms went, she was already missing the moody silences.

Micah DiFranco was about as different as you could get from Laurence. Marshall had to pause and recall if Mary's Glock had the safety on, nodding to himself when he remembered it was. That gave him about 5 seconds of playtime to keep her from shooting the guy if she drew it.

"Stan wants you to have a third wheel on this and Harper won't move from Cass's side since her eyes started twitching last night," he said gleefully, like a kid in a candy store. "So you get me."

Mary snarled under her breath before going back to her lookout duty. "Anything yet, doofus? I have an urge to kick a door down or two."

He checked his phone out of habit, but he already knew there was nothing. With Jared and Rachel poking and prodding the hard drive, they'd know if anything was on it within an hour or so. Rachel was one of the CIA's most versatile agents – both a techie and a first rate covert operative – and Jared was Nevada FBI's most tenacious investigator. He had a knack for finding obscure things too that his sister was more then capable of clarifying if needed.

"Not yet," he told her with the tone of a parent to their impatient and petulant child. "Patience is a virtue, Mare."

He ignored the finger she flipped at him for that.

"So how come you never told me you had a brother and sister?" She tossed out and Marshall grimaced slightly. _Couldn't forget about that, huh?_

Easily, he retorted, "It never came up, really. And they're…"

"They're clones of you."

"Actually, as I'm the middle child, I would be a clone of Jared, technically speaking…"

Again, Mary glanced away from her post to glare at him. "You know what I mean."

Somewhat wryly Marshall admitted, "My father has very dominant genetics. We all look like him…except the hair. Our hair is darker, like mother. I actually haven't seen them for a little over two years now." His phone rang then, as if on cue, and silence descended in the car abruptly. No shuffling or rustling or anything.

"_We found it!" _Rachel's loud voice sing-songed clear as day without him even having to put his ear to the phone. _"A very deeply hidden Trojan Horse with an embedded keylogger. They went to town on the information for June, unfortunately, but those backup drives were still in tact. That's what they were trying to burn the restaurant down for I'd wager. There still isn't proof of any wrong doing, but a Mrs. Linette Meyers paid a seventy-two dollar tab about half an hour after one Mary Shannon paid for fifty dollars worth of drinks."_ Silence on the other end. _"Can she really drink that much?"_

"Yes," the entire car echoed, but it was a distracted sound if anything. He flipped his cell shut and locked and loaded his first gun. _Not enough for warrants, but enough to warrant a trip to the courthouse for questioning. _They were just going in to take her for a talk, but for all they knew the bastard would take a shot at them. Nothing was going to be left to chance.

That and the predatory gleam on Mary's face kind of scared him. A lot.

"We're not going in to shoot anyone," he reminded her, shaking his head when she pouted at him.

"Maybe we'll get lucky," she snipped at him with a grin.

Luck or not, Marshall still found it irritating when they didn't even get halfway up the walkway before the first shot pierced the air.

"_MARSHALL!"_

**

* * *

A/N: I don't know why I'm torturing Marshall all the time…oh yeah. That's right. There's a point to it! I swear I'm not a sadist. OK, I am, but it's not JUST because it's fun having Marshall in pain. Next chapter I'll divulge the reason too. And a gunfight! Mary-muse is just dancing in excitement.**

**So what did you think? Let me know!**


	7. Chapter Six

**Oh the fun…thank you to all of you who have reviewed so far! They really do inspire me every time I read them. I dedicate this chapter to all of you who have reviewed – especially those who I know have pretty much reviewed **_**every chapter**_**. Love you all and please enjoy!**

**~SRDempsey**

_**

* * *

Fury and Flames**_

**Chapter Six**

The shot came at his left, buzzing just beside his ear, and for one terrifying moment Mary was afraid he'd actually gotten shot this time. No near-miss about it. But his curse a second later confirmed he was alive and mighty pissed, rolling behind one of the thick hedges out front for cover, wedged into the corner with a white picket fence at his back.

Another shot pinged off the garbage can lid close to Marshall's head –_closer then she wanted them to be – _and she fired a shot in the general direction of the bullet's estimated trajectory before moving her position. She motioned for Micah to do the same from his position behind the GMC's truck bed, unsure of their assailant's position but having a sneaking suspicion she knew where it might be. It was the right angle for it, at the least. Another shot dinged against the truck bed and she confirmed it as she spied the shadow of someone moving through what was left of her house. _He's shooting from what's left of my house's attic._ Half of the roof had been burned away, leaving him exposed partly, but most of the front and side walls remained in tact with only the back wall being almost entirely destroyed. _His cover is decent. We don't have a shot._

She didn't move when Marshall dodge-rolled across the open spot between them to her position, though it was an effort. Her nerves were better then that, but apparently at the moment she wasn't quite so calm. Adrenaline and anger made her jumpy and he knew that, the idiot. "Any bright ideas, doofus? We have an open field between us and my house and absolutely no shot from here while I'm willing to bet he has at least a scope on that rifle."

Marshall didn't answer for a moment, but she could see the gears spinning in his head as he calculated and figured out numerous possibilities. "Micah!"

"Yo, Techie?" His brow wiggled, awaiting his bright idea. For all his bluster and irritating personality, at least he was good with teamwork.

"Do a Houdini."

_And there we have it. He's finally cracked._

"Doofus, now is not the time!" she snapped, but he was serious as he motioned her silent. He was watching Micah with a look full of meaning that Mary had no clue about, and before she could blink he popped open the lid into the sewer system near his feet and disappeared in a blink. "What the hell are you two doing?"

"Patience," he said with a smile, firing through the bushes at her sad excuse for a house and motioning for her to do the same. At over 40 yards away, only dumb luck would allow them to actually hit him.

Then again, she supposed they didn't need to.

Five minutes passed before she watched, boggle-eyed, as what remained of her house collapsed in on itself, a heavy cloud of dust rising up as the plaster and wood fell away with a loud crack. They both took off towards the house at a run, tensed to hit the ground if bullets started firing, but it was a wasted effort. As the dust began settling with the rubble, she looked up and let her eye twitch once as she saw DiFranco was already there, covered in dust with goggles – _where the hell he got those she'd never know_ – to protect his eyes and his Glock pointed at the coughing man lying amongst what had once been her house's living room.

"Either of you going to tell me how you did that?" she demanded, gun never lowering.

With a rogue's grin, DiFranco chuckled, "I would, Shannon, but then I'd have to kill ya."

She smirked slightly. "You could sure try DiFranco, but I'd drop you before you could lift a finger."

"Our sniper friend first," Marshall reminded them both a little loudly, shaking his head. "Depressurize after we bring him in." His voice was tense, which brought Mary back to the moment, and it was then that she noticed something…off about the man in front of them. Something wrong. He was continually shaking his head, eyes not focusing well on anything at all.

"No," he said, his voice like a petulant child then anything. Lost. Confused.

_Is this really the man who tried to kill us?_ The doubt was there, but she looked at the rifle – a standard issue M40 for most military snipers. He still had his military haircut, even, but…

"Marshall."

"I know." He saw it too, the lack of substance to him – the lost weight and the overall state. "This makes no sense, Mare. He's too…gone. Even if he could hold that rifle correctly, it's doubtful he could make a clean shot like these last two have been. Our shooter is in top performance. This man would be lucky to nail an elephant at 5 feet."

"Another shooter?" Micah offered, lips pressed thin. He didn't like what they were saying at all, nor could he really say they were wrong. _Mary_ didn't like what she was saying.

_Nothing is ever easy, is it?_

"Maybe," Marshall mused, the silence heavy with meaning. "Or maybe this was a setup."

It happened so fast Mary barely had time to react. The silence hung in the air, thick enough to slice with a knife, and then…gunfire. _Lots_ of gunfire. Pain exploded in her leg as it buckled mid-turn and brought her to a knee with a curse, dragged to cover behind a large piece of wall by Marshall before she could get her good leg working from under her and covered by DiFranco who was holding an arm that had obviously been hit but shooting with it anyway despite the pain of the kickbacks with his secondary. Gregory Hollands had never stood a chance – his body lay crumpled where he'd been dropped, twitching every so often when the stray bullet hit him but otherwise a sad man put out of his misery.

Dragging herself to a sitting position, Mary returned fire, furious. _They used him_. Any animosity she felt was filled instead with red-hot fury. _He serves his country, probably does all the right things, and comes home to find his family has been murdered a day before he landed. Then he finds out their murderer won't even come to justice for it._ She spared a look at his body, only half of what it had been a year ago from the picture in his file. _At least he probably had no idea what hit him._

The gunfire ceased a minute before they heard tires squealing, Marshall taking off like a bullet, but she didn't have much hope for anything. _It was a cover so they could police their brass and clean their tracks._ They'd have tire tracks at the least, but she'd bet anything they'd dump the vehicle the minute it was safe to.

_Just what the fuck are we dealing with?_

The explosion that boomed mocked her more then anything, a plume of fire hitting the air just as Marshall came back into her line of vision. Mary knew before he ever cursed that it was his beloved GMC, and she let her head fall against the wall remnant holding her upright with a dull thud.

_Great. Now I'll never get him to stop whining about this for at least 6 months now…_

* * *

Laurence was furious.

Marshall found it difficult to not sympathize with him – _they got to have FUN the one day he DOESN'T come? – _but he didn't classify anything from this morning _fun_. At all. He was absolutely livid, thinking things Mary would laugh about if she could hear his thoughts.

He cursed, alright. He just never said any of them out loud.

Marshall cursed in ten different languages when the ME loaded Hollands' body into the cadaver bag, his head bowed. The sister-in-law was found in her house shot in the head – a single bullet in her head execution style. She was brought out not long after her brother-in-law, her face forever stuck in that terrified half-screaming expression that would haunt his memory for a good long while.

The only good thing – sort of – was that Cassie had awoken.

Her verbal skills were…damaged to say the least, though possibly repairable, and she couldn't write very well at all, but what made her uniquely Cassie was there. It was there with the fire burning in her eyes and the inarticulate attempt at cursing she tried to do when they updated her on everything.

"I just got done assuring Gunnery Sergeant Hollands' former CO that we would find this bastard." Stan wasn't happy, but he did waste a small smile at Cassie as he stepped into the tiny room. _Always glad to see his people safe. _"Which we will. We have everyone now. The CIA is letting us keep Ms. Mann until this is over, as well as her partner who will be joining us tomorrow morning, and the FBI is sending us some of their best to help with the investigation besides Special Agent Mann."

There was dead silence for a moment as everyone replayed that sentence in their heads.

"God, can't we just call them numbers 1, 2, and 3?" Mary finally said, always the first to break the ice. She was walking with a crutch, but was otherwise fine. "Ms. Mann. Special Agent Mann. _Marshal Marshall Mann."_

"That's a lot of…Mann." Micah's lip twitched in amusement, his wounded arm hanging easily in its new sling. Josiah shot him a dirty look, all 5'11" of him leaning against the wall scowling since the impromptu debriefing had begun.

_That's a fight waiting to happen,_ Marshall thought with a sigh. _But not now._ _He knows this._

Even Laurence joined in the ribbing, perhaps because his partner could not. She tried, but the words in her head refused to form in her mouth, much to her frustration, and Laurence settled a hand on her shoulder so she wouldn't push it. "More _Mann _then Shannon can handle, probably."

Mary sneered at him, but her eyes danced in barely suppressed laughter.

_There are worse ways to depressurize, I suppose._ Resigning himself to being the butt of the joke for the night, Marshall added, "Just call us Cream Puff, Stringbean, and Beefcake. We'll get it."

Dead silence.

Then the laughter, to which Mary demanded over the noise of it, "And which one are _you_ supposed to be, doofus?"

Innocent eyes. Mischievous smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

* * *

God, Buddha, Gandhi, or whoever the _hell_ was up above was laughing at her. Loudly. And pointing as they clutched their side in tears.

Mary stared at the suddenly _too small _living room and scowled. Notably. Marshall's house wasn't exactly much bigger then her own had been, though it appeared more spacious because of its vaulted ceilings. With five soon-to-be-six people staying under it though, even his place was starting to get cramped.

Currently, the argument in question was about room assignments.

It wasn't as if she and Raph hadn't shared a room before…but she didn't want to. She _liked_ her room here and she liked sleeping in it _alone_. This was _her_ place. This was U.S. Marshal Mary Shepard's room. Mary Shepard who had an easier life and didn't scowl 18 hours a day and actually _laughed_ for most of it, because her partner had so many screws loose his head fairly rattled every time he walked. Not like Mary Shannon who worried about a former alcoholic mother and drama-prone sister and a well-meaning but pushy as hell soon-to-be-ex fiancé. Mary Shannon who scowled at everyone and trusted no one. The marshal in her didn't trust anyone either, but that was because of the job. Mary Shannon didn't trust people for a whole bunch of other reasons.

_I wonder if I can make Mary Shannon disappear and just let Mary Shepard take over?_

It wasn't the first time that thought had crossed her mind, nor was she suffering from some split personality disorder no matter what Marshall said. It was simply easier for her to compartmentalize her job and the rest of her life. Mary Shepard was the job. Mary Shannon was everything else. And as a whole _Mary Shepard is a lot happier then Mary Shannon._

But why?

"The living room is more then suitable for us," Rachel protested, speaking for her and her MIA partner. "Chris sleeps sitting up most of the time, anyway. It's not like he's very picky about where he sleeps. There's an outlet for his computers. He'll be happy. And there is a kitchen right there-" She motioned towards said room with her arms. "-so _I'm _happy. _You know how much I like to munch at night._"

"Fine!" Marshall tossed up his arms, utterly exasperated. "You guys can have the living room. Jared can sleep on the floor in my room…"

Mary tuned out _that_ argument the moment it started, watching as Marshall once again attempted to be the peacekeeper. No wonder he was never bothered by her combative personality. His siblings made her look like a lamb in comparison. They argued over _everything_. The affection was there too, obviously, but mostly just plain old sibling sniping that she and Brandi did. Sometimes. When she wasn't doing something ridiculous like drug trafficking. Or causing drama.

"Why don't Mary and I share?" Raph offered, obviously pleased he could contribute _something_, "He can take the room I'm in then."

_I knew he'd offer._ As her fiancé, it made sense, but that was something they'd have to talk about…later. Not yet. While in theory she had the time now while they tried to dig up leads on who the real string-puller was, they would have to go at a moment's notice to chase this bastard across the continental US if necessary and it would be possibly fatal on her part to be shouldering the emotional baggage for that during such a dangerous mission.

That's what she was telling herself, anyway.

Marshall glanced her way momentarily before answering Raph's suggestion. "If Mary has no problem with it, that's fine." He looked at her, obviously aware of…something. It made being his partner easier that way. He was always aware, even if he wasn't sure of _what_ he was aware of. Confusion was clear in his face too, further proving her point. _He knows something is bugging me about this, but he's not sure why. He doesn't know yet. Maybe I should talk to him about it tonight. It would be nice to vent this anger to someone so Raph won't notice._

"Its fine," she shrugged, as if her brain weren't in the middle of an inner debate with herself. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Why indeed," he smiled, but with a pointed look in his face. _Ask a question without asking. I hate it when he does that._ "Well, now that that's settled…I'm starving." Marshall turned on his heel towards the kitchen, his sister trailing after him like a puppy in her enthusiasm to help.

_Interesting family._ Mary had to tear into him about not mentioning them to her later, too…all the more reason for her to speak with him tonight. _You can run, doofus, but you can't hide…_

* * *

Marshall was soaking in his single most guilty pleasure – his Jacuzzi bath tub – in his large master bathroom when Mary came knocking. She only paused to confirm he was in there before opening the door, smirking slightly when she noticed where he was before she settled herself on the bench near his feet, her back flat against the built-in entertainment center.

"I forgot how much I love your bathroom," she grinned, hands behind her head and her eye raking him up and down in typical Mary fashion. Marshall thanked God for the bubbles, wondering idly how long they lasted on average before they started to fade. "Is that _bubble bath?"_

"It smells nice!" he defended, mock-scowling when she laughed _harder_. He flicked bubbles at her out of habit – a petulant reaction that also uncovered his _other_ childhood memory he'd have preferred she never see. On pain of death. He tried to delay the inevitable anyway. "And it's a _foam_ bath. A common misconception, actually…"

She ignored him, as he'd thought she would. _"Marshall!"_ She grabbed it from the water before he could hide it, his head thunking against the tile wall behind him lightly. "It's a _rubber duck."_ Glancing around, her grin widened further. _"THREE OF THEM!"_

_Shoot me now,_ Marshall thought with a shake of his head. He would _never_ live this down. Ever. Bad enough Jared knew about it. It was actually a miracle she _hadn't_ discovered this particular secret in the nearly four years they'd been partners now. "Mr. Quacks-a-lot," he deadpanned, staring at the one in her hand. "The female is Mrs. Mallard. The other tiny boy one is Ducky."

He waited until she got done laughing before continuing.

"You did come in here for another reason beyond laughing at my childhood keepsakes, right?" He snatched Quacks-a-lot back and let the three of them drift around his feet as they'd been doing before, waiting until her brain caught up with her. "As much as I do love sharing with you, Mare, I _would_ prefer to get this conversation done with before the bubbles cease to exist. Or after I finish bathing, even."

"Right, right." She shook her head to clear it, though she kept looking at his innocently floating yellow ducks and smirking. Widely. "God, my head. _You_ should be named Quackers Mann."

"Father calls me that." He said, utterly serious, and making Mary double-take. Again. "Quackers, I mean."

Mary made a funny little choking noise, head bowed while she held up a finger in the universal _'give me a moment'_ gesture. When she was done choking on her laughter, her eyes still shiny with tears, she managed to tell him, "There _is_ something I came to talk about. Really." She paused a moment to think on it again.

Long arms extended on either side of his tub, Marshall made himself more comfortable, thankful that he could stretch his legs out all the way and still keep them submerged in the nice warm bath he'd drawn. His ducks bounced in the water unobtrusively, and he firmly decided that perhaps he really did have a screw loose somewhere. It seemed far too natural to be speaking, utterly naked except for the foam bubbles on the water surface, to his fully-clothed partner like this. Logic told him he should be embarrassed.

_Then again, the flag is flying at full mast below the water, so SOMETHING is working normally at least._ Yet another reason to bless the fact that he'd chosen bubbles instead of the water jets tonight. The jets would have made this conversation even more awkward to tolerate. _Like poking a hungry tiger with a stick. Repeatedly. Only he likes it._

Just thinking about it made him squirm.

"I'm breaking up with Raph."

Marshall's eyes shot to her dead serious ones, ignoring the single finger she had dipped into the water and drawing lazy circles around his duckies. He had many things he wanted to say to that statement, but he settled for, "And you're happy with this?" instead.

"He'll never leave it alone." She closed her eyes, head shaking slightly. "He'll _never_ understand exactly how secretive my job has to be. Why he can't joke about it. And…" She reached into the water and tugged one of his legs up by his big-toe, eyeing the scars from the burns critically. "I'm pissed! I'm pissed that he did this to you. That he got Hayner shot in the head so bad she's having difficulty talking and writing and that _I may lose my job once this is over!_"

It took a bit of maneuvering to do without flashing her by accident, but Marshall reversed his position so he could hold onto her wounded leg easier. "You won't lose your job," he promised. "Stan will make sure of it. _I'LL _make sure of it if necessary. There will be fall out, obviously, _but you will still be my partner when the dust settles._" He poked her when he got no response. "Understand? I will have my father pull strings if necessary, and I _HATE_ the idea of doing that. But I will. For you."

He knew she was OK when she poked him back – a single jab with her pointer finger that was hard enough it was probably going to leave a bruise. "You won't have to, doofus. Geeze. The bath salts are making your brain mush."

"Hey, bath salts are great muscle relaxants and have many medically beneficial uses," Marshall protested, grinning. "Plus, some of them smell nice."

"You're such a girl!" Mary complained, back on her normal footing and away from the emotional place he knew she hated. "I'll bet you get manicures and pedicures too."

"What's wrong with that? It's a perfectly natural thing to want to look nice and-"

She slapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue, kneeling on the floor and half leaning into the tub to do so while he chuckled behind her hand, amused. "Not. Another. Word. _I will shoot you, doofus. _I mean it!"

He held up two fingers. _Boy Scout's honor._

"You _would_ be a boy scout," she muttered, obviously amused as she went to let herself up. "Oh, and Marshall? The bubbles are fading."

His head immediately jerked downwards, vexed that she was right, and fighting not to blush like some school kid when she wiggled her eyebrows tauntingly with that ribald expression on her face.

But when she opened the door, the expression dropped completely, and Marshall consigned himself to the fact that he wasn't getting out of his bath any time soon to save what little modesty he had left.

"Hello, Raph," he said cordially, as if nothing strange was afoot. "Come on in. The air blowing in is rather cold."

**

* * *

A/N: I have to admit, this has been my favorite chapter. By far. Oh, the fun. The PLANS I have for this…haha. Any guesses on how Raph reacts?**

**As always, give me some feedback! You know how much I love it. Come on now…**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Many apologies for the delay! Last chapter was…hard to follow. Lol. And this one is a little shorter then most, but it seemed like a good place to end it. Sit back and enjoy, but beware of whiplash!**

**~SRDempsey**

_**

* * *

Fury and Flames**_

**Chapter Seven**

"Hello, Raph," he said so cordially that Mary wanted to smack him. "Come on in. The air blowing in is rather cold."

Raph's face was stone as he looked at them both, as if he'd just caught them _flagrante delicto_ as Marshall had not 24 hours ago. Mary found that image amusing, considering she'd _never_…well, OK. So she'd thought about it. Once. When they were first partnered and she'd realized there was a real bad ass in that gangly dork packaging who could make a grown man squeal like a girl with just a simple hand-lock and nail a bolter in the leg at nearly 30 yards easily. She'd met Raph before that idea could fully take fruition though, and now…he was her _best friend_. She _WOULDN'T. _Just…no. Not just for sex.

Mary was no expert, but she could carry a halfway-intelligible conversation in Spanish, so she had a vague idea of what Raph was ranting on about as he slammed the door shut with force, barring them all inside Marshall's thankfully large master bath. She almost felt pity for him as he lounged back against the tub, any hopes at modesty dashed as the remaining suds disintegrated in the startlingly clear water. _My, my, my MR. MANN…_

"Mary, _for how long?"_ Raph demanded, dark eyes blazing in righteous anger and snapping her back to the problem at hand.

"What are you talking about?" She honestly had no idea what he was talking about. "Jesus, Raph…"

"_How long have you been fucking him?"_

And Marshall closed his eyes, face unreadable, and went to his happy place.

_Lucky bastard,_ Mary thought as that furious anger roiling anxiously under her skin surged to the surface, eyes narrowing enough that even Raph's furiously handsome face faltered slightly. _He wants to do this now, HERE, with Marshall present? Fine. We'll play hard ball. He just better be fucking prepared to LOSE. _"I have _NOT _been fucking my partner. Jesus, Raph, I'm not you who'll fuck anything that'll have me! Your therapist…hell, my own sister if she were just a little more desperate!" She held up a hand, halting whatever he was going to say in its tracks. "But no, my sister actually has a bit more brains than that. She actually _gets_ why I keep my job under wraps now. She doesn't ask. _Brandi,_ for Christ's sake, who still thinks broccoli and cauliflower _are the same damn thing!_"

"And what does that have to do with…with…" Raph gestured widely, unable to form the right words. _"_Why you're in the bathroom with a man who's not your fiancé?_ A NAKED man!"_

"It's what we do," she snapped, livid, and purposefully sat on the edge of the tub close enough that she'd fall into Marshall's lap – and the water – if she scooted any closer. "It's our thing. He's my _best friend_! So what if he's naked? I've NEVER cheated on you and he's such a fucking boy scout he'd never even try for it!" She smacked her palm against his naked chest for emphasis.

"Ow," he whined, glowering.

"Suck it up, Cinderella," she glowered right back before focusing back to Raph who stared holes at Marshall's chest with the quiet fury vibrating through every muscle in his body. "Despite popular belief, I don't lose control and have to fuck _every naked man I see_! _Mary is not the whore of Albuquerque!"_

"I never said that!" he defended loudly, tossing his arms up in the air in exasperation. "_Dios mio_! Don't be putting words in the mouth! What am I _supposed_ to think when my fiancée is in the bathroom with another man who is naked, Mary? _'Oh, it's just nothing?'_"

"_YES!_ You're supposed to trust me. You want to judge whatever it is we had by normal standards, fine, but you'll be sorely fucking disappointed after. I do not have a normal job. _My situation is NOT NORMAL_. I'm not what you need, Raph." She withdrew the ring from her pocket, trying not to acknowledge the kicked puppy look crossing his face as realization dawned. "I _can't be what you need._ We're no good for each other."

"No." He shook his head, refusing to take the ring. "No, we're _great _together…I _love you_, Mary!"

_I love you._ The phrase ping-ponged in her head, echoing, and she let out a dead laugh in response as the emotional weights bore down on her like anvils around her ankles, threatening to drag her into that place she'd wanted to ignore for a little while longer. "You love me? Really, Raph? Then why did you do this?" She shoved her arm down and brought Marshall's leg to the surface, a nasty expression on her face. "_Why can't you leave my job alone?_"

"Mary," Marshall murmured quietly, warningly.

She ignored him, letting his limb drop back into the water with a splash.

"Why couldn't you leave it be and _just listen? _Instead of bitching about the supposed equality of marriage and how it is _SUPPOSED _to be, as if there were some set-in-stone rules to marriage in the first place, why couldn't you just _shut up_ and leave it alone? But no, you had to joke about it _IN PUBLIC_, compromise the security of my office, my safety, and _MY FAMILY_, and cost the life of an innocent man, the near death of a U.S. Marshal, and…" She stared daggers at Marshall's legs, appalled and furious as she felt that swell of emotions that meant tears were right behind it. _And my best friend's life. I could've lost him, easily, if he weren't such a boy scout and a survivor. I nearly lost him…TWICE!_ _In 24 hours. Once to the fire and once to a sniper's bullet if he hadn't been such a girl and fainted._

"Mary." Marshall's voice dragged her from her own mind, patting her jean-clad thigh lightly. "Let it go. I'm fine. Cassie _will_ be fine. It's just like it was with Lola. _We'll be fine._"

She did not look at Raph as the emotions spiraled up and up as she cried, peaking as she considered all that she could've lost because of her own judgment call; did not punch Marshall when he shifted so one of his arms could wrap around her in an awkward sideways hug. Did not stop Raph as he backed out of the doorway, his face a mask of conflicting emotions as he tried to swallow all that she'd said, and cried harder as Marshall gave up trying for modesty and pulled her into the water, cradled across his lap, and let her cry it all into his shoulder while he stroked her arms up and down in soothing motions while murmuring constantly in her ear.

"We're fine, Mare. We'll be OK. We're fine…"

* * *

Thankful did not begin to describe Marshall's feelings when he and Mary finally emerged from his bathroom, her soaking wet and wrapped in his towel while he…well…_was not_. It was only his siblings, anyway, who weren't even _pretending_ not to have been eavesdropping. _At least they're honest snoops._ Jared's eyebrow arched at his state of _non-_dress before he simply turned on his heel and walked out of the room while Rachel held up clothes he was fairly certain she'd dug out of Mary's bag, her face oddly serious. She helped dry her off while he nearly dived into his walk-in closet for clothes – _finally! – _and re-emerged in his moo pajamas and a t-shirt to find Rachel gone and Mary lying curled up on her side on his bed in the fetal position.

He hated seeing her like this. Marshall was selfishly glad Raph was not here, his brother confirming it for him when he stepped out of the room long enough to grab her some chocolate and extra pillows from the linen closet in the hallway. It just went without saying that she would be sleeping with him in his room tonight. Mary didn't move an inch, tears silently falling and she stared vacantly ahead, lost in the horror of what could've _easily been but wasn't._

He couldn't stop it, unfortunately. He knew that. It was a part of healing, in a way. It was best to let it run its course while it could instead of hitting her at a random and _inconvenient_ time later on. Marshall had done the same we she was finally in the clear after her close-call shooting a few months ago, crying to himself for almost 24 hours in his room once the fear had been replaced by relief and the walls he'd placed up around his emotions came tumbling down under the full weight of that bone-deep terror of losing her.

2 hours. 2 painfully long, arduous hours until she finally spoke and it just _had_ to be about _that_.

"You know, you could poke an eye out with that thing."

Marshall had to blink a moment before he realized she spoke, and then another few moments before he realized what she was referring to. "If you can joke about _that_ then you seem like you're OK now." Self-consciously, he crossed his legs, mentally wondering just how long she was going to get hung up on this particular facet of his anatomy…pun intended. "If someone is low enough _to_ get an eye poked out by it then that would put a wrench in things," he mused dryly. "Only one reason someone would be eye level _there_."

"Mood killer," she giggled _and she never giggled_. Marshall glanced at her face again, concerned.

"Mare…"

"I thought we could work." Her voice was pitiful, child-like, and distraught. "I tried. I _really tried, damn it._"

"I know." He scooted close, half pulling her upper body against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her while she snuggled close, left arm thrown lazily over his lap. "_I know._ You tried your hardest but it wasn't enough for him." He kissed the top of her head, fingers toying idly with her mess of hair that had dried awkwardly. "You did _everything you could_."

"Maybe it's just not possible for me." Resigned. Somewhat sad. "That happy ending women chatter about. I thought maybe I could get it with Raph after a while – he's a good guy and loved me – but…"

"Your happy ending is steel iron gates instead of a white picket fence and guard dogs instead of flowers," he chuckled. "Everyone has a different version of what makes their 'happy ending', Mare…he just didn't want to see anything but the vision he'd already made."

She considered this, her hand fisting in his shirt every so often. "Then what's yours, Marshall? What's _your_ happy ending?"

_A sprawling ranch with five horses and lots of land, overlooking the city with you in the background shooting tin cans off the fence with your Glock for practice,_ he thought, but dared not say that out loud. _Two children…maybe three…and several ranch dogs running circles at my feet._ It was a picture he held close to his heart for several reasons, only part of it being because that had been _his_ childhood. The dogs and his siblings, running full speed across the yard with the horses nickering in the stables at the noise, disturbed from their peaceful naps. The big family gatherings in the yard with his various distant relatives…cousins and aunts and uncles of all flavors who all thought he was a little too strange. Playing in the thick canopy of cottonwood trees at the north edge of their property, climbing the trees and having mock gun fights that changed to fights with paintball guns when they got older. Shrieking like a girl when his father first took him to the gun range and showed him how to shoot a gun. Hanging upside down off one of the thick branches of the cottonwood tree that grew right outside his old room window.

Marshall did not tell her these memories or his happy ending. He couldn't even say if she was in that picture as a wife or just as his partner…couldn't really care, so long as she was there. She would always be Mary – headstrong, always coming out on top, and just…_there_. A permanent fixture in his life he would love, regardless, until his final breath and beyond if there was any life _after_ death. He liked to think so. That all those feelings and that love didn't just…vanish like a candle blown out.

"My happy ending…" he settled for telling her _because there was no way she would let him get away with NOT telling her anything_, "is horses. The whole cowboy image. And pie. Gotta have pie. Maybe a pie _factory_…"

Mary froze, that _'what the hell'_ expression on her face, and he grinned widely, relieved when she slowly grinned too, reaching over and braining him with his own pillow. "I'm being serious, doofus!"

"So am I!" Marshall laughed as she hit him again, and it disintegrated to an all out pillow fight that, somehow, his siblings ended up getting into as well. He wasn't sure when that had happened, exactly, but they did all end up lying sprawled out on the living room floor, chuckling like children.

"You know, you never introduced us," Mary pointed out needlessly, considering her head was resting on his stomach and one of her legs was thrown over his sister's waist. Turning to grin at them, she extended her hand, laughter twinkling in her eyes. "Hi. I'm Mary Shannon, this doofus' partner."

"Rachel Mann, his younger sister." When their brother said nothing, Rachel swung her arm out and smacked him resoundingly across the stomach enough to make him wince. "Manners, Jared!"

"Jared Mann, the eldest," he rumbled, glaring at his sister half-heartedly. "We've heard lots about you from Stringbean here."

_I'm glad she's back to normal,_ Marshall thought, tuning out the in-depth discussion the three of them dived into about what _exactly_ they'd been told about her. _But why me?_

"We couldn't wait to meet the woman who once managed to shoot our brother in the ass," Rachel chirped, giggling.

"_Rach!"_

Jared snickered. Mary nearly split her side open, remembering.

_Why the hell me?_

**

* * *

A/N: No, Raph is not gone permanently, but he's out of the equation for the moment. He was just taking up space in Marshall's house and I just couldn't think of anything to keep him there. But he will return. Grudgingly, on my part, because he and Mary still have some unresolved things to settle. But LATER. For now, it's just Mary and the Mann trio.**

**So…like? Dislike? Hopefully the pace of this story isn't too bad, or the…**_**feel**_** of it, for lack of a better term. Let me know! Go click the button!**


	9. Chapter Eight

**MANY apologies for the incredibly long delay! For some reason, this chapter just wanted to give me a LOT of trouble. It took a while to iron it out, but here it is! Hopefully you enjoy it. Special thanks to all those at the MM LJ Board who helped me get past my writing hurdle with this!**

**Secondly, some GOOD news and some BAD news. The GOOD news is Mary-muse and Marshall-muse are behaving again! That means not-so-long breaks between chapters.**

**The BAD news is I will be going on a month-long hiatus beginning November 1st, so as to participate in the 2009 NaNoWriMo. But I will be back on December 1****st**** at latest.**

**I always am. =)**

**~SRDempsey**

_**

* * *

Fury and Flames**_

**Chapter Eight**

"Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"What?" With a solid round-house kick to Marshall's raised arm, she grinned in exultation at his wince. "You moved!"

"Did not," he shot back pointedly, avoiding the kick at his head she sent at him half-heartedly at best. To Bobby D's observation, Marshall told him, "This _is_ her resting."

For the life of him, Bobby didn't understand the two marshals before him. At all. He could follow Marshall's line of reasoning easily enough _sometimes_, but how the man himself came upon the things in his head were beyond him. Hell, ALL of Stan's people, as far as Bobby was concerned, were mental.

It'd been a month since the shooting. His department had been running every lead available to every fathomable dead end with nothing to show for it…yet. And yet here Shannon was with Mann at Bradley's Gym – the unofficial law enforcement gym in Albuquerque – sparring with him full throttle.

If this was resting, he never wanted to see them really go at it.

"Aw, you worried for me Dershowitz?" she crooned with a saucy grin, taunting him. Bobby took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was not a child. He would not rise to the bait. _Would not stick his tongue out at the insufferable marshal like a child._

"Worried you may croak from over exertion and make me have to do paperwork on my day off," he shot back, grinning with Marshall who laughed and dodged a left hook that would've connected with his eye soundly. "Never mind close down the gym and deprive Albuquerque's fine lawmen of their sanctuary for a week. You ever WORK with wound up police before, Shannon?"

"Sure I have," she laughed. "I wind them up _myself_. I wind them up _REAL_ good." Mary laughed gaily as Marshall shook his head at him.

Well, he did set that one up. Bobby smirked slightly. "Mann, how do you put up with her? Admit it…you tranquilize her on missions, don't you? Slip her sleeping pills?"

"Ply her with chocolate," he snickered.

"And sex," Mary added with a flippant – and mocking – toss of her hair that made Marshall choke on his laughter. "He knows how I like it _rough."_

Bobby covered his mouth so she could not see his smirk, noting his friend's reddened ears somewhat amusedly even as Mary cackled in renewed mirth.

_Can he be much easier to read?_ Of course, Shannon remained oblivious. Bobby hoped it was feigned on her part, but who knew when it came to these two? He'd learned long ago to not expect anything where they were concerned.

The suddenly vicious gleam of mischief in her eyes was proof of his point. It was kind of look he was sure most men would delight in having shot their way, but Bobby knew better. Hell, it certainly made him smile, but nothing good ever came from Mary Shannon when she had that expression on her face, bullet to the leg or not.

"How about you, Dershowitz?" she smiled, trying for innocence _and failing spectacularly._ "Think you can give it to me how I like it?" The double entendre was as subtle as a boulder on his head, and he shouldn't have caved, but Bobby had a weakness. Shannon _and_ Mann both knew it, too. He loved challenges of any kind. _He could not back down_.

And that was as blatant a challenge as any.

* * *

He did not pity him, though the thrashing Bobby's ego must've taken certainly warranted it. Marshall had taken such beatings more then once, however, and in his own way his friend was long overdue to 'take some for the team'.

The _Mary Shannon Cleanup_ _Crew_, that is.

He watched his friend fly, momentum and weight turned against him as Mary flipped him onto his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs and pin him to the mats. The other APD officers would never let Bobby hear the end of it from their looks, but the local FBI and USMS people hovering around the gym to watch the daily spars knew better.

Mary Shannon was a hell-raising force to be reckoned with.

Which is why Marshall felt like shooting them all – especially paraplegic Simon Bradley, owner of Bradley's Gym and Albuquerque's very own former chief of police.

"Why don't you and your partner go at it on the mats for real?" he jested loudly, hooting at the mental image it no doubt conjured. Marshall scowled at him from his position outside of Mary's visual range, but let it drop as she did that slow head turn towards him, expectant.

_Damn them all to the fiery corners of hell._

There were numerous reasons Marshall disliked sparring with Mary…the most prominent being their inability to keep it as just a spar. When they practiced, they went all out, and neither of them was going to be able to move for at _least_ 36 hours after all was said and done. The last time he could recall sparring with her, they'd just gotten paired together as a team, and she wanted to make sure she wouldn't be 'dragging his ass' during their more physically demanding duties.

She'd never complained about it to him again.

But now…now Mary wanted to. Again. Just for the hell of it because they had nothing else to do and she was spoiling for and honest to goodness fight. It was there in her face and fire-filled eyes the fact that, when it came down to it, he was the only one ballsy – _suicidal_ – enough to go full out against her. The only one _worth_ challenging.

Marshall heaved a long, almost tired sigh, but smiled just slightly. A mere quirk of his lips in amusement, because given the chance he'd _still_ tie himself to this particular hell raiser any day _even if it really was tiring some days._

And that slight quirk of his lip was all the answer she needed.

* * *

Sparring with Marshall was _fun_.

He did not let loose much, but in a fight her partner went all out. It was wonderful to watch and even better to go up against. He was all long legs and deceptively nimble limbs – a fact that Mary knew only too well. He was as slippery as an eel and fast, but he had weak spots. Plenty of them.

She was no fool – Marshall surpassed her in speed, strength, and flexibility. Mary knew this. As they circled each other like two predators, the cheering of their fellow lawmen drowned out with the rest of the background noise, Mary smiled predatorily and felt more then a little smug when she saw him tense.

_Ready or not, doofus, here I come!_

Mary aimed a kick at his torso with her right leg, right in that sensitive spot she knew he had, and Marshall laughed as he pulled back and grabbed her leg, attempting to unbalance her. She broke out of it with a twist, hand on the mats and free leg whipping around to knock him in the head faster then the first. Marshall dodged back, freeing her leg, and tsked.

"That was mean," he lamented, smiling as he dodged a punch to his shoulder blade and _hopped_ over her sweeping kick.

"This is a _spar_," she shot back, annoyed as he dodged and blocked _again_. "As in _fight back_!"

"Land a hit on me and I will," he taunted, wagging his eyebrows in that irritating manner that never failed to piss her off, and Mary put all the strength she had into her next kick, irked. He blocked again – predictably – but with considerable more effort.

Good.

Her leg ached a bit where the bullet had hit her a month ago, but Mary ignored it. She'd been good and stayed in bed a full week after being released from the hospital, and _forced_, damn him, to take it easy for the following two weeks and allow her injury to heal up nicely. She'd even learned a thing or two about the stupid computers from helping their live-in CIA agents track down some cyber-leads when she got too restless. Mary wasn't going to let a little ache ruin her fun the _first damn day_ she had gotten to go to the gym and get back in shape after a month's bed rest.

No way in hell.

"Take her down a peg!" one of the local FBI agents was shouting…and was that _money?_

Marshall saw it too and groaned. "Don't place bets!"

"You nuts?" Bobby shot back, still glowering over his earlier defeat, "This is just about the match of the year! Fifty on Mann!"

Mary twitched, only partly aware of Marshall's growing sense of doom. This was why their spars weren't spars so much as glorified fights. "I'm kicking _all_ your chauvinist asses after I kick his!" First on the list was going to be the marshal slapping his ass at her tauntingly.

They were all going to _pay_…

* * *

Marshall didn't bother trying to grab her as Mary came at him with renewed vigor. Now she had something to prove to all the chauvinists who he was certain were secretly conspiring to get him killed. He only saw two feasible options now…give her the fight she wanted or get knocked in the nuts. And that wasn't even taking into account the royal lashing she'd give him for holding out on her if he took the 'easy' way out.

If a leg to his most sensitive spot could be called 'easy', anyway.

Mary didn't pull her punches with him. Ever. It went against some internal code of hers. And nothing was sacred when she fought. Biting, scratching, pinching, hair pulling…she wouldn't spare his dignity just because he was her partner. If anything, she'd go all out because whether she realized it or not, she had higher expectations of her partners more then any other. He'd seen it even before Stan had paired them off and her disappointment when they'd failed.

As of yet, Marshall hadn't failed her.

Which is why he grabbed Mary's arm as it passed by his face, narrowly missing its intended target. Her eyes widened as she realized her predicament, and Marshall took that moment of surprise to knock her feet out from under her in a swift move that had her on her back in a second.

Just as fast, her feet tangled with his and Marshall found himself right next to her on his back, rolling to his feet before she could do something mortifying like sit on him.

"You should be proud of that, doofus. No one gets me on my back unless I want to be there," she jested as they circled again.

Innocently, with a smile cultivated just for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of Mary, he shot back over the catcalling of their peers, "Does that mean you _want_ me to get you on your back?"

Haughty laughter, louder whistling, and a look that would scorch a lesser man right down to his toes came his way. "You wouldn't be able to _HANDLE_ it, doofus!" She punctuated it with a swing of her fist that he narrowly avoided, more from distraction then anything.

What could he say? He was a guy. _Envisioning such things was just what they did._

He continued to dodge, watching her face that sank deeper into irritation with each second. His time for contemplation was growing rapidly thin before she resorted to kicking him in, say, _the nuts._ And while Marshall really didn't want to fight her, even in jest, he was not a masochist. He didn't like pain.

And Mary just didn't care how much she dished out when she was annoyed enough.

Like now.

"Come on, doofus! I promise not to break anything," she taunted with a kick that snapped up like a whip and barely missed his chin. "Permanently, anyway. Or maybe I should ask your brother the beefcake for what I want? _He_ certainly seems willing to give me what I ask for."

There was no way, really, for Mary to know how _irritating_ that sentence was to him. Then again, maybe she did. But whether she did or not, the result was the same.

She came at him with a right hook that would make any brawler proud, and Marshall grabbed her outstretched arm deftly, ire making him peevish as he flipped her. Mary grabbed his arm, however, and he stumbled forward, pulled by Mary's momentum as she hit the mats and the foot she planted on his chest. He tumbled half into the surrounding crowd when he let go of her out of sheer shock, landing harshly on his back.

_That's going to hurt later._

She pounced on him before Marshall could get back up, vibrating with tension. All her irritation over having to send her family away, dealing with Raph, and otherwise fighting an unjust world was getting unleashed. Mary wasn't seeing him – she was seeing just another practice dummy.

She clawed and scratched and pulled hair as they rolled all over the mats, more like petulant children fighting over the last candy bar then two marshals sparring, but it wasn't about the fight today. It was about letting off steam and Marshall certainly had his fair share to let loose as well.

With a hoist, he got his foot flat against her and pushed hard enough to get her off him, but not enough to hurt. Marshall was ready for her when she rebounded, fangs bared, and actually got knocked in the jaw before he managed to grab her in an arm lock that left her cursing.

"This pressure point will hurt worse if you keep fighting," he whispered in her ear, fingers digging into her arm. "Uncle?"

She admitted defeat in the same breath that she called his parentage into question _among other things_ and Marshall laughed as he caught the towel she threw at him irritably. "If any of that were true, Mar, I'd be physically _and_ mentally ill."

"As opposed to just being mentally fucked up?" She said it with a grin, however, and laughed before slapping him on the back and ducking into the women's locker room to change.

Marshall had just peeled off his sweaty shirt and was about to strip down to his boxers when he heard her curse and was already through the door and near where she'd stored her things when she shouted, _"Marshall!"_

"What?" He glanced around out of habit, taking in their surroundings. "What happened?"

She pointed and he followed her finger with his gaze, observing the photo taped onto her black sports bag with the USMS insignia in bright gold. It wasn't anything grizzly as one might expect, but the post-it pressed onto the bottom edge of it made him freeze. Below the picture of what was certainly Brandi and Jinx at so random bistro, the post it made clear more then anything else just how bad things were going to get.

"_**Shall I say hello to your lovely mother and sister, inspector?"**_

_**

* * *

A/N: Dun dun dun. And this is where I leave off for a month. Wish me luck at NaNoWriMo and as always, give me some feedback! I wanted to have them fight but, unfortunately, it didn't work out well. Maybe in another chapter.**_

_**So you know what to do…review!**_


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